


Rivers of Time

by Charon Spole (cascadingpoles)



Series: The Wheel Turns Anew [4]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 12:06:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 85
Words: 460,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16832317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cascadingpoles/pseuds/Charon%20Spole
Summary: They say you can never go home again, but when Emond’s Field is threatened its prodigal sons and daughters are forced to test the truth of that saying, for good or ill.Meanwhile, people across Valgarda, hero and villain, find themselves drawn inexorably towards a certain fortress, where legend will soon become reality.





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> This is Book 4 of a series of fan-fiction novels set seven Ages after the end of the original Wheel of Time. The Wheel has turned full-circle and the events of the Third (now Tenth) Age have begun again, though they grow increasingly different as small decisions made differently prove to have far-reaching consequences, and the reincarnations of some perhaps familiar souls from other Ages exert their influence on the Pattern.
> 
> A lot of the chapters in it are copy-pasted from The Wheel of Time so I won’t post the whole thing here, for fear of bringing trouble to the site. Instead, I’ll post the most heavily edited chapters, along with the entirely new ones, and add a link for anyone who cares to download the whole thing from Mega.
> 
> Full version, with map and appendix, can be found here: https://mega.nz/#F!3r4xHIgZ!eKMBCOVRiRdtNvltw8nmog
> 
> Oh, and for those that are only interested in the smut scenes, or who would prefer to avoid scenes involving certain pairings or acts, I've included a spoiler-heavy file in the Mega download that provides a summary of all sex scenes and notes which chapter they can be found in.
> 
> Safer version begins on the next page. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> * * *
> 
> I will now provide a brief summary of some of the bigger changes made in the previous books, for anyone who doesn’t care about spoilers.
> 
> Rand has been sexually active from a young age, in no small part due to a traumatic abuse, and his ta’veren nature has altered many of the other characters attitudes as well, leading to a rise in promiscuity across the board, of the straight, gay and bi varieties. It is a smut fic, after all.
> 
> Egwene was murdered by Aginor at the Eye of the World, and her death had many consequences. Mat was not present in the dungeon when Fain escaped, so he did not lose his dagger or accompany Ingtar when he went in search of the Horn. Instead he was taken to Tar Valon to be Healed, and has been kept prisoner there ever since. Traumatised by the death of Egwene, Rand and Nynaeve entered into a sexual relationship at Fal Dara. And since he now has a keener awareness of unintended consequences to his decisions, Rand urged Thom Merrilin to leave Cairhien after Barthanes Damodred revealed his Darkfriend nature; this led to Thom saving Dena’s life and the two of them fleeing to Tear.
> 
> Since Egwene was not present when Liandrin betrayed Nynaeve to the Seanchan, Elayne was taken as damane instead. She and her pillow-friend, Min, helped Rand and the others fight Turak and escape Falme, and when they found themselves in the midst of the battle outside the city between the Seanchan and the native residents, it was Min, not Mat, who sounded the Horn of Valere.
> 
> Rand and Nynaeve’s parties did not split up after Falme, leading to them developing closer relations while making their way across two of the new nations I’ve added: Falmerden and Valreis. Rand took a greater interest in Uno and the other Shienarans due to Elayne’s influence on him, and acquired some maids as well, once of whom he took as a lover. He encountered and became involved with Morrigan and Leliana, too, but both those relationships ended poorly.
> 
> Now he continues his journey eastwards, fleeing from the Forsaken and his other enemies, as events begin to catch up to the timeline first depicted in Robert Jordan’s The Dragon Reborn.
> 
> Full version, with map and appendix, can be found here: https://mega.nz/#F!3r4xHIgZ!eKMBCOVRiRdtNvltw8nmog

For the sake of neatness, the series proper will begin on the next page.


	2. Chapter 2

Just as the rain feeds the river which in turn feeds the sea, so do dreams feed the living souls that both feed and form the Pattern of Ages. The river may flood its embankment, it may slowly erode a slightly different path for itself through the earth, but it can never flow backwards, it can never seek out a new land to bathe in life; it can never but trickle mindlessly towards its predetermined destination. What value then our decisions? Our goals, our desires, our presumptions of intellect and discovery? If we can only change our lives in the smallest of ways, then is there any point to living at all?

Circular time and reincarnation. These are the shackles by which humanity is made slaves.

—from a fragmentary page believed to have come from  _ Reality and the Absence of Meaning _ , by Elan Morin. Translated by Ada Smit, Aes Sedai of the Brown Ajah, in 790NE, the Tenth Age.


	3. Skin Deep

PROLOGUE: Skin Deep

The hunt for Darkfriends was seemingly never-ending, but it was a task to which Geofram Bornhald was glad to devote himself. It was the reason he had first chosen to join the Children of the Light, after his hunt for Cevelia’s murderer had revealed the fiend to be one of the Shadow’s devotees. Service to the ideals of the Children had taken him far from his native Tarabon—most recently to the sparsely populated remains of the nation of Almoth—but this Theren was perhaps the most isolated region he had ever visited.

The Lord Captain Commander had ordered him to leave his position on Almoth Plain and take half his remaining legion here to cleanse the area of a reported Darkfriend infestation, so Geofram had split his command for the second time in as many years, this time leaving Lieutenant Corfala to oversee the annexation of the Plain. He was a good man, but it troubled Geofram to dilute the legion’s numbers as badly as they were. Five hundred men should be more than enough to deal with whatever trouble a place like this might offer, but he would still much rather have had the full legion with him. He would never have admitted it aloud, but he especially wished he hadn’t sent his son Dain off with Eamon Valda, and not just because Dain had the makings of a fine officer. He missed the boy.

Well hidden in a stand of tall leatherleaf above the north bank of the River Taren—or the Tarendrelle if one used its older name—Geofram tossed back his white cloak, with its flaring golden sun on the breast, and raised the stiff leather tube of a looking glass to his eye. A cloud of tiny bitemes buzzed around his face, but he ignored them. In the village of Taren Ferry, across the river, tall stone houses stood on high foundations against the floods that came every spring. Villagers hung out of windows or waited on stoops to stare at the thirty white-cloaked riders sitting their horses in burnished plate-and-mail. A delegation of village men and women were meeting with the horsemen. Rather, they were listening to Jaret Byar, from what Geofram could see, which was much the best.

_ Let them think there is a chance, and some fool will try to take it. Then there’s killing to do, and another fool will try to avenge the first, so there’s more killing. Put the fear of the Light into them from the first, let them know no-one will be harmed if they do as they’re told, and we should have no trouble _ . He’d told his son as much once, and he believed it still.

Byar turned his horse and rode back onto the ferry. Immediately the ferrymen cast off and began hauling the barge across by means of a heavy rope slung over the swiftly flowing water. Byar glanced at the men at the rope; they eyed him nervously as they tramped the length of the barge, then trotted back to take up the cable again. It all looked good.

Geofram was dubious of the Lord Captain Commander’s claim that the entire region was an enclave of Darkfriends, despite his past encounter with some of its folk. Whether Perrin Aybara and his accomplices were Darkfriends or not had never been proven. Not that it was necessary to prove that in order to condemn him. He had murdered two of the Children after all.

He would have been dubious even if the advisor Pedron Niall had sent him was not as disturbing a man as he was. Ordeith’s name was obviously an alias—it meant “Wormwood” in the Old Tongue. An odd thing to call oneself, as odd a name as the man who bore it.

“Lord Bornhald?”

Geofram lowered the looking glass and turned his head. The hard-faced man who had appeared at his shoulder stood rigid, staring straight ahead from under a conical helmet. Even after the hard journey from Almoth Plain, his armour shone as brightly as his snowy cloak with its golden sunburst.

“Yes, Child Ivon?”

“Hundredman Farran sent me, my Lord. It’s the Tinkers. Ordeith was talking to three of them, my Lord, and now none of the three can be found.”

Geofram’s lips tightened into a thin line. “Bring him to me.”

Ivon saluted crisply, spun on his bootheel, and strode back into the trees.

Out of sight of the river, white-cloaked horsemen clogged the spaces between leatherleafs and pines, waiting patiently to make the river crossing into strange territory. And beyond them would be the caravan of  _ Tuatha’an _ they had encountered on their way here. The Travelling People. Tinkers. Nearly a hundred horse-drawn wagons, like small, boxy houses on wheels, made an eye-jarring blend of colours, red and green and yellow and every hue imaginable in combinations only a Tinker’s eye could like. The people themselves wore clothes that made their wagons look dull. Six men were all he had thought necessary to watch Tinkers.

Soon enough Ivon returned with Farran. Neither glanced at the third man standing between them, a bony little man with a big nose, in a dark grey coat that looked too big for him despite the fineness of its cut. Farran, a bearded boulder of a man yet light on his feet for all his height and width, looked embarrassed, even with his stiff face. The hundredman pressed a gauntleted hand to his heart in salute but left all talking to Geofram.

“Three of the Tinkers cannot be found, Master Ordeith,” Geofram said quietly. “Did you perhaps put your own suggestion into practice?” The first words out of Ordeith’s mouth when he saw the Tinkers had been “Kill them. They’re of no use.” Geofram had killed his share of men, but he had never matched the casualness with which the little man had spoken.

Ordeith rubbed a finger along the side of his large nose. “Now, why would I be killing them? And after you ripped me so for just suggesting it.” His Murandian accent was heavy today; it came and went without him seeming to notice, another thing about the man that disturbed Geofram.

“Then you allowed them to escape, yes?”

“Well, as to that, I did take a few of them off where I could see what they knew. Undisturbed, you see.”

“What they knew? What under the Light could Tinkers know of use to us?”

“There’s no way of telling until you ask, now is there?” Ordeith said. “I didn’t hurt any of them much, and I told them to get themselves back to the wagons. Who would be thinking they’d have the nerve to run away with so many of your men about?”

Geofram realized he was grinding his teeth. His orders had been to make the best time possible to meet this odd fellow, who would have more orders for him. Geofram liked none of it, though both sets of orders bore the seal and signature of Pedron Niall, Lord Captain Commander of the Children of the Light.

Too much had been left unsaid, including Ordeith’s exact status. The little man was there to advise Geofram. Whether Ordeith was under his command had been left vague, and he did not like the strong implication that he should heed the fellow’s advice. Geofram did not understand how the Lord Captain Commander could trust this man, with his sly grins and his black moods and his haughty stares so you could never be sure what kind of man you were talking to. Not to mention his accent changing in the middle of a sentence. The fifty Children who had accompanied Ordeith from Amador were as sullen and frowning a lot as Geofram had ever seen. He thought Ordeith must have picked them himself to have so many sour scowls, and it said something of the man that he would choose that sort.

“Master Ordeith,” he said in a carefully level tone, “this ferry is the only way in or out of the Theren district.” That was not quite the truth. According to the map he had, there was no way across the Taren except here, and the Manetherendrelle, bordering the region on the south, had no fords. To the east lay bogs and swamps. Even so, there must be a way out westward, across the Mountains of Mist, though his map stopped at the edge of the range. At best, however, it would be a hard crossing that many of his men might not survive, and he did not intend to let Ordeith know of even that small chance. “When it is time to leave, if I find Andoran soldiers holding this bank, you will ride with the first to cross. You will find it interesting to see at close hand the difficulty of forcing a way across a river this wide, yes?”

“This may be part of Andor on the map, but Caemlyn has not sent a tax collector this far east in generations. Even if those three talk, who will believe three Tinkers? If you think the danger is too great, remember whose seal is on your orders.” Ordeith’s voice held a hint of mockery.

Farran glanced at Geofram, half reached for his sword. Geofram shook his head slightly, and Farran let his hand fall. Ordeith didn’t seem to notice the exchange; he wore a rictus grin as he stared across the River Taren.

“How did you come to suspect these people were harbouring Darkfriends?” said Geofram blandly.

Ordeith’s mad grin did not slip even as his dark eyes slid towards the Lord Captain. “Suspect? Oh no, great Lord. It is no mere suspicion. These people are as vile in the Shadow as anyone ever was.”

“And your reason for believing this?” Geofram repeated, with ill-concealed impatience. Why Niall had decided to trust this man was beyond his understanding. He had to have known about the fake name, which hardly spoke well of “Ordeith’s” character. What sort of man was ashamed of his own name?

Ordeith’s smile was much too mocking for Geofram’s taste. “I have explained all to the great Lord Niall, my friend. The Dome of Truth was named truly that day. It is why he sent you here.”

Geofram grunted in response. “To pacify this region.”

“To scour it, Great Lord. To cleanse it of all those who are corrupt, but especially of the families of the three,” Ordeith said hungrily.

“Aybara. Cauthon. And al’Thor.”

“Yes,” he breathed, “Those three are ringleaders among the Darkfriends, and their kin led them to that path.”

“Three boys of no more than eighteen years. From this isolated backwater. And they are ringleaders among the Darkfriends,” Geofram said, his voice flat.

Fury flashed briefly across Ordeith’s narrow face and the white-cloaked guardsmen who were never far from Geofram’s side stirred angrily. Angrily, and a touch uneasily. It took a madman or an Aes Sedai to offer even that much threat to a Lord Captain of the Children of the Light when he was surrounded by his soldiers. And who knew what a madman was capable of? Still, as mad as he almost certainly was, Ordeith still had enough sense to at least try to hide it. He plastered a sycophantic smile on his face before speaking.

“The Shadow cannot hope to thrive where men walk in the Light, and in numbers, great Lord. But here, where few good men venture? Here the weeds can—and have!—grown thick on the ground. It is for you to cleanse it, great Lord. The Light calls you to action.”

“Perhaps it has,” said Geofram reluctantly. If so, it had chosen a man of surpassing strangeness to bear its message. With his weasel-like appearance, wild hair and obvious madness, Ordeith looked like a caricature of a villain, not any messenger of the Light. Geofram knew better than to give credence to appearances when judging someone’s character but he still found it hard to trust this man. Pedron Niall though? Niall he trusted, and if Niall valued Ordeith’s counsel, then Geofram would try to heed it as well, no matter how little he liked it.

“There will be as much glory here as there will be when Tar Valon falls, I assure you.” Ordeith said, suddenly soothing. His dark eyes took a glazed look, stared at something in the distance. “There are things in Tar Valon I want, too.”

Geofram shook his head.  _ And I must cooperate with him _ .

Jaret Byar drew up and swung down from his saddle beside Farran. As tall as the hundredman, Byar was a long-faced man with dark, deep-set eyes. He looked as if every ounce of fat had been boiled off of him. “The village is secured, my Lord. Lucellin is making certain no-one slips off. They nearly soiled themselves when I mentioned Darkfriends. None in their village, they say. The folk further south are the Darkfriend kind, though, they say.”

“Further south, is it?” Geofram said briskly. “We shall see. Put three hundreds across the river, Byar. Farran’s first. The rest to follow after the Tinkers cross. And make sure no more of them get away, yes?”

“We will scour the Theren,” Ordeith broke in. His narrow face was twisted; saliva bubbled at his lips. “We will flog them, and flay them, and sear their souls! I promised him! He’ll come to me, now! He will come!”

Geofram nodded for Byar and Farran to carry out his commands.  _ A madman _ , he thought _. The Lord Captain Commander has tied me to a madman _ .

* * *

She looked sulky. She always did. With her honey-gold hair and big brown eyes, she had often been compared to a child’s doll by fools who seemed to think Liandrin would take such comparisons as a compliment. She was no doll, no child. She was Aes Sedai; the very Power that drove the Wheel of Time was hers to command. She was a woman to be feared. But no matter how often she tried to compose her face in the mirror, she still looked sulky. It was the lips that betrayed her, she thought. Those pouty, red, rosebud lips did not suit the woman she was.

With a silent snarl, she turned away from the gilt-framed mirror one last time. It was very unlikely she would ever return to these chambers, here in the upper levels of the White Tower. She would not miss them. They were far more luxurious than anything she had known growing up in Tarabon, but they were not hers, not really. They were provided for her by the Tower. The rich furniture and comfortable bed were gifts, and Liandrin Guirale placed no value in gifts. She would take what was hers, what should always have been hers.

What she meant to take with her had already been quietly transported to the ship that had been arranged. What remained was nothing to her, like the White Tower, which was just a stepping-stone on her rise to power. She had always seen it so, and may the Great Lord take those Aes Sedai who had tried to drill into her head the belief that the Tower must come before all else. That was not to say she liked being ordered to leave it, of course. That she could be so casually made to expose an allegiance that had, until tonight, been carefully concealed, was infuriating.

_ One day, it will be me who gives the orders. Even the Chosen will learn to fear me _ , she told herself as she threw open the door to her chamber and stalked out into the Red Ajah quarters. Even at this late hour there were still women loitering, for the Red was the largest of the seven Ajahs that the Tower cared to admit existed. None of those who watched her pass attempted to speak to her. Perhaps they were not so foolish as she had often thought, and knew she would simply ignore them if they had dared speak. The tiles she walked over were patterned with the Flame of Tar Valon, but coloured in red rather than white. She had often thought they resembled drops of blood, and smiled to herself as she stepped across them. It was a fitting symbol, given the work they had been ordered to do this night.

It was to the lower levels of the Tower that her feet carried her, beyond the main entrance where soon to be dead men stood sentry, and still farther down, to the subbasements where the Tower stored all of its most important artefacts.  _ Ter’angreal _ , the rarer  _ angreal _ , and the even more precious  _ sa’angreal _ —what Liandrin would not do to lay her hands on one of those! Alas, they were kept warded at all times, and only the Amyrlin and the Hall of the Tower knew how to unravel the wards.

The one who had ordered her to reveal herself did not care about the  _ sa’angreal _ anyway. He was a man, and so they would be useless to him. No, it was  _ ter’angreal _ Be’lal wanted. And a very specific type of  _ ter’angreal _ too. Those, and a circle of thirteen female channelers. What he wanted them for Liandrin did not know, and that added to her vexation.  _ One day _ .

She was not the first to arrive at the designated meeting place. When she eased open the rough wooden door of the storeroom, Liandrin found six Aes Sedai waiting for her, uncaring of the dust and discarded tools that surrounded them. Fear wormed its way into her heart, though she did not let it show on her face. That face was as ageless as those of the other women who now stared at her expressionlessly.

She knew all of them, but only in passing. None were members of her own heart, and their allegiances were suddenly uncertain to her. Had the Amyrlin discovered her? Handing al’Meara and Trakand over to the Seanchan had been reckless. Despite her best efforts to conceal her part in their “disappearance”, she had lived in fear of Sanche’s women coming for her in the months since. But then, as now, she had been acting under the Chosen’s orders.

Liandrin wanted to walk away from the staring faces, but she forced herself to curl her fingers into the hidden sign. If these were not the women she was supposed to meet ...

Chesmal and Temaile looked disappointed when they saw her make the sign, but Ispan sighed in relief. She was a fellow Taraboner, though dark where Liandrin was fair. She was also a weakling. It was with no small amount of shock that Liandrin watched the effete woman’s hands fingers curl into the answering sign that declared that she too was a member of the Black Ajah.

“Not what I would have expected,” she said, eyeing the others. Chesmal and Temaile were no great surprises. Those two liked to hurt people. And Falion was as cold a White as she had ever met. But Joiya Byir, her of the motherly smiles? And the Saldaean, Asne Zeramene? She had four Warders and liked to boast of how long her family had been fighting the Shadow, yet she herself was a Darkfriend? Liandrin shook her head.

“Tonight, it is a night for surprises, no?” said Ispan, a smile curving her full lips. Liandrin didn’t smile back. Surprises were another thing she wasn’t very fond of.

“Berylla and others are arranging our exit,” said Falion, her voice as cold as her face, “it will be for us to secure the  _ ter’angreal _ .”

Liandrin showed the Kaltori her teeth. She was the strongest in the Power of the six who awaited, but not as strong as Liandrin, and by custom as strong as law that put her beneath Liandrin in authority. “Good. Falion, you will deal with the first of the guards, yes? Do not fail me. You would very much regret it.”

Falion stared at her for a moment, blank-faced. Despite the woman’s calmness, Liandrin would not have been surprised to see the telltale nimbus surround her. She herself stood ready to embrace  _ saidar _ at the first hint of anyone else doing so. That they were all admitted members of the Black Ajah did not mean they were allies. But when Falion spoke, she was as calm as ever. “They will not know what hit them,” she said, with murder in her dark eyes. But whose murder was she thinking of in that moment?

“I spoke to some clerks before coming here,” said Chesmal, “and they told me that Katei, Negaine and Maenadrin are on duty in the cellars tonight. They are nobodies. Killing them will be much easier than killing an Amyrlin.” Tall and stern-faced, she seemed very self-satisfied.

Liandrin disliked that too. “Speaking to outsiders, this was foolish, yes? What chance these clerks tell their tales to others?”

Chesmal smiled broadly. “None, of course. I killed them as soon as I was done with them. Their bodies will not be found until morning.” The Yellow Ajah styled themselves as healers, but this one’s calling was the opposite of that. And yet she was reputed to be one of the most talented Healers in the Tower.

Liandrin flashed a brief smile of her own. “Those will not be the only bodies on display.” She herself would kill at least one of the sisters on guard duty, she decided suddenly. Clerks were nothing in comparison to an Aes Sedai.

“Shall we be about it then?” said Asne. “My Warders are growing bored with all this waiting.”

“You brought them with you?” Liandrin asked, a little surprised. As a Red, at least officially, she herself knew nothing of Warders, of course.

“I can keep them under control,” Asne claimed. “Even the two who are not Friends of the Dark.”

Liandrin contented herself with a sniff, and showed the Saldaean her back. Shoving open the door to the storeroom, she led her band out into the darkened halls of the White Tower. The dark suited her well, as it gave the perfect excuse to embrace  _ saidar _ . Having done so, she wove Fire and Air together to create a ball of light that hovered above her outstretched palm. She tried to ignore the unease she felt when several of the women behind her did the same. It was a perfectly innocuous use of the Power. Something that any sister might do while wandering a dark corridor. Those who awaited them would have no reason to wonder why they were holding  _ saidar _ until it was too late.

The door to the  _ ter’angreal _ storerooms was as plain as any of the dozens of others they passed, but the women sitting on cushioned benches outside it made it obvious that this room was different. Aes Sedai did not stand guard over anything that was not of the utmost importance.

The Cairhienin, Maenadrin, was the first to notice them. Her dark eyes fastened on the blue of her countrywoman and fellow Grey, Temaile, but there was no warmth in the recognition. She stood and placed herself in the middle of the hall, as though to bar their path. Plain Katei and spindly Negaine rose to join her.

“What are you doing here at this hour, sisters?” Maenadrin asked. She did not embrace  _ saidar _ . None of the three did, which pleased Liandrin well.

Joiya smiled her friendly smile. “Oh, we were just out for a walk dear, but while discussing the Treaty of Koran we found ourselves at an impasse that I rather thought Negaine might be able to resolve.”

The other two glanced back at the Brown sister, who blinked confusedly. She opened her mouth to speak, then left if hanging open in wordless shocked as Falion struck.

Maenadrin screamed in pain as the cold stabbed into her body, stiffening and blackening her flesh in a matter of moments. To the eyes of any who could not channel, it would have appeared as though she suffered a fatal and unnaturally swift attack of frostbite. The scream gave Liandrin a moment’s pause, but Ispan had had the sense to weave a ward around them to drown out the sound. Negaine would perhaps have screamed as well, but Chesmal did not give her the chance. Where Falion killed her target brutally and painfully, Chesmal simply laid a complex weave upon Negaine’s body, one that caused her to instantly drop to the floor. She was dead before she hit the ground. That left only the plump White sister, and Liandrin hastened to strike her down before any of the others could get to her. Water, woven just so, formed a floating blue blade that moved to Liandrin’s will. It was her will that struck Katei’s head from her shoulders. She had not known the woman much at all, but she still took satisfaction in her death. It was proof of Liandrin’s superiority.

Maenadrin was the last to die. Temaile watched it happen with a bright gleam in her eyes. “You like to make it hurt, Falion? I hadn’t known we shared a hobby.”

“We share nothing,” Falion said contemptuously.

“Unravel the wards,” Liandrin commanded, not looking at anyone in particular. She herself did not know how, but surely one among them had to. It would be a great embarrassment if they did not. And likely a painful one too.

Asne stepped forward. She was well over a hundred and fifty years old, old enough to be Liandrin’s great-great-grandmother, but the uninitiated would think her to be in her thirties. In all that time, she must have had many chances to see this done. Sure enough, the Green easily disarmed the wards that protected the storeroom, and pushed open the door.

Liandrin stepped hastily over the corpses of her former sisters. They had been ordered to bring the Chosen a very specific set of  _ ter’angreal _ , but there were other things in that room, devices left behind by the ancient Aes Sedai that might be very useful to her someday. She meant to grab as many as she could before she left.

* * *

Morgase Trakand found no comfort in the familiar sight of her palace in Caemlyn. Never a woman to easily forget a slight or let go of a grudge, she still seethed in anger even now, weeks after being denied the chance to see her daughter.

Her guards and servants trailed her quietly. They had been uncharacteristically quiet all throughout the journey back from Tar Valon in fact. She had ostensibly gone to the city to discuss the rising anti-Aes Sedai sentiment in Andor with the Amyrlin Seat, but in truth she had mostly wanted to see Elayne. She missed her more than she had expected to on sending her to be trained in the Tower. And worried about her. Oh, she was a competent, dutiful and well-trained girl. But too brave and adventurous for her own good. When the Amyrlin had refused to allow Morgase to see Elayne she had been rightly furious, and that fury had quickly turned to fear. Had something happened to her child? Could it be that the sisters had hurt her, and did not dare admit it for fear of what Morgase might do? Whatever Andor’s long history of support for Tar Valon, if they had harmed Elayne, or allowed her to be harmed under their care, then Morgase would see them answer for it. Somehow ... What exactly she could do against those who mastered the One Power she did not know but, if they had harmed her Elayne, the Queen would gladly swear on the Lion Throne to see them pay.

It had taken more than a little pressing before the Amyrlin finally admitted that they did not know where Elayne was. She had left the Tower with another student, apparently. Her fate was now a mystery, and one that chilled Morgase’s blood.  _ If they have hurt her, or allowed her to be hurt, they will answer for it! _

She stalked through the marbled halls of the palace, and even the long-legged Tallanvor, who commanded her escort, had to hasten to keep up. If Elaida had been there she would have rebuked Morgase for her undignified haste, and tried to insist she match her pace to the Aes Sedai’s, but Elaida had been stripped of her position as the Queen’s advisor and left behind in the White Tower. A slap to Tar Valon. In answer to the slap of daring to lose Morgase’s daughter.

“How many died in the fighting?” she asked. That was another barb in her heart. While she was off in Tar Valon, seething at the Amyrlin, her people here in Caemlyn were seething too. There had been rioting in protest of Tar Valon’s influence over Andor. For the first time, Morgase wondered if the protesters were right, but that did not excuse the loss of life.

“Roughly two hundred,” Tallanvor said grimly. “It could have been a lot worse. This Gaebril ...”

“The Lord you say put down the riots? What House is he from?”

Tallanvor stiffened. “Rumour on the street lays the credit with him, Your Grace. I do not.”

“He is in the palace?”

“Yes.”

“Then have him escorted to my office.”

“As you command.” The guardsman saluted before leaving.

As she made her way to her office, Morgase dispatched her maids to summon the First Maid and the First Clerk to a meeting. She would need to speak to the higher-ranking nobles in the city as well, but it wouldn’t do to summon them in such a manner. As Queen she could, but it was best not to.

Once safely ensconced in her office, free from the always-watching eyes of her subjects and rivals both, Morgase finally allowed herself to relax. She took the Rose Crown from her head and laid it carefully on its red silk cushion before collapsing on the sedan chair and letting out a long sigh.  _ Where is Elayne? Is she well? _ Gawyn had seemed unhurt, and assured her he knew nothing of his sister’s condition, positive or negative. She’d wanted to bring him back with her but he had plead to remain and he was a grown man now, so she’d left him in the Tower. Meanwhile, Galad had apparently run off with the Whitecloaks of all things, in no small part due to Elayne’s disappearance. He had always had a tendency to take things to extremes, that boy. She suspected his zealous drive to excel was born of trauma. His birth mother had abandoned him for reasons no-one knew. Some part of the boy must have wondered if it wasn’t due to some fault in him that she had left. And what boys feared invariably became part of what men seek to destroy. She would contact him as soon as she could. The Children of the Light were not good for him.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Morgase sat up straight and composed herself before calling out her permission to enter.

Tallanvor entered, bringing with him another guardsman. The two flanked one of the handsomest men Morgase had ever seen. More than six and a half feet tall, and muscular, with broad shoulders and a flat stomach, he made the two guards seem boyish in comparison, though neither was a small man. The newcomer had skin of a dark brown colour, full lips, and tightly curled black hair. He dressed richly, and there was a self-satisfied look in his dark eyes. Those eyes cooled Morgase’s ardour somewhat. Handsome he might be, but this man was potentially dangerous.

“Lord Gaebril, Your Grace, as ordered,” said Tallanvor.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” she said, and was pleased that he and the other guardsman took up positions by the door without her needing to instruct it. Even a Queen in her palace was not completely safe. An assassin might have little hope of escaping here should he make an attempt on her life, but it was far from unheard of for men to throw their lives away if it meant taking an enemy down with them. “I understand we have you to thank for the swift end to the recent riots, Lord Gaebril. Forgive me, but I do not believe I caught your House name ...”

The man laughed richly. “Oh I doubt you would have heard of it, Morgase,” he said in a deep voice. Her eyes narrowed. It was not at all proper for him, or anyone, to address her by her given name. She opened her mouth to rebuke him ... but he kept speaking, and a sudden fascination came over her. “Though I would be happy to discuss my origins in private. Why don’t you dismiss your guards so we can get to know one another?”

Morgase was too fascinated by the sound of his voice to frame a response, but Tallanvor spoke up angrily. “Mind your tongue. You speak to the Queen of Andor. Address her appropriately.”

Gaebril ignored him. “In private,” he repeated.

“Yes,” Morgase murmured, though part of was aghast at the suggestion. No, the command, the command with which she needed to comply. She should comply with all his commands, everyone should. Why had she ever doubted it? “Guards. Leave us.”

“Your Grace?” Tallanvor said incredulously.

“You heard the Queen, guardsman. Leave us,” Gaebril smirked.

Tallanvor stood so stiffly and looked so outraged that for a moment she thought he would refuse. Part of her desperately wished that he would. Something was wrong, but she could not explain what. But the Queen’s Guards were well trained, and loyal to Morgase’s commands. The guardsmen saluted, and let themselves out, leaving her alone with the stunningly handsome man. A man worthy of her worship.  _ What? No. Never _ .

Gaebril chuckled to himself. “Well this was easy. I could wish everything was this easy.”

“Your name?” she said confusedly. She had been asking him about that. It had seemed important at the time.

His smile broadened. “You wouldn’t like to hear it, and the weave is not fool-proof. Best not to tempt fate. You may call me Lord Gaebril. Or master. Yes, master will suit me fine, ‘Your Grace’.”

“I have no master,” she said, blinking, her voice less angry than it should have been.

“Don’t you? Let’s see about that.” Gaebril strode towards her confidently. “Stand up,” he said, gesturing impatiently for her to get out of his way. Morgase found herself obeying, and never mind how disrespectful the gesture was. He sat in her chair and leaned back, relaxing, one arm draped across the back. With his other hand he began untying the laces of his breeches.

Morgase stood there dumbly, watching as this strange man displayed his cock to her there in her own office. Her guards were right outside the door, but the thought of calling for them never entered her mind. She just stared at Gaebril’s semi-hard manhood, shocked at the sudden desire that stabbed through her mind.

“Suck me,” he said, and his voice rang with the smug certainty that she would.

The Queen of Andor fell to her knees before the strange man. A distant voice cried out for her to stop, but she ignored it. She took Gaebril’s cock in her beringed hands and guided it towards her mouth. He was already big, and she suspected he was not yet at his full size, but she opened wide and wrapped her lips around the bulbous head. As ordered, she began sucking, though that voice cried out for her to stop. Odd. It sounded like her own voice.

Gaebril’s hand tangled in her red-gold curls. “Deeper,” he demanded. “Take it all the way into your throat. A Queen should suck cock better than that.”

Shame coursed through Morgase, but not shame at what she was doing, only that she had failed to please him. She pushed her head down on his cock, trying desperately not to gag on the hot rod of meat that poked the back of her throat.

“That’s better,” he rumbled. “I think I will like being King of Andor. There’s nothing quite like having a rich, beautiful, powerful come bucket at your beck and call. I will have others besides you, of course, but if you keep sucking like that I might just keep you. Would you like that?”

Morgase nodded her head up and down Gaebril’s cock in response. In that moment she couldn’t imagine anything she wanted more. He seemed to like that. He gripped her hair harder and began fucking her face with his huge cock, heedless of her discomfort. Her underwear was soaked in her juices, and she knew she would do anything to please this man.

“I knew you would.”

There was no doubt in his voice, and suddenly there was no doubt in Morgase either. Without being touched, or even touching herself, she came explosively in her underwear. “Yes!” she tried to shout, but her mouth was too full for more than a garbled groan to escape.

Gaebril laughed at her. “Good girl. Be’lal and the others chose poorly. I doubt they’ll find a mouth half this sweet to fuck.”  _ Be’lal? I ... that name, it’s— _ But Morgase’s last rational thoughts were blown away when Gaebril’s cock twitched in her mouth, and his sticky come spurted forth to fill her throat. His pleasure overwhelmed her. She could only kneel there, her eyes rolling back in her head as his come dribbled over her lips and chin to stain the breast of her rich dress.

Gaebril smirked to himself, and sprawled in Morgase’s chair as he watched her desperately trying to lick up all of his spilled come. “Yes, this will suit me just fine,” he drawled.


	4. Sanctuary

CHAPTER 1: Sanctuary

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Tenth Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose in the Zandarakh Mountains. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was  _ a _ beginning.

Eastward across a fractured land the wind howled, a land where multiple factions fought over causes even they barely understood. The wind was uncaring of their struggles, as uncaring as the vast plains it swept over, that men presumed to call the Caralain Grass; once home to a proud nation, now empty of human life and none the sadder for it. As though steered by an invisible, unknowable hand, one that did not share its indifference, the wind came at last to a lush forest nestled near the banks of the River Ivo. Much was forbidden entry to that place, but not the wind. It rustled the new spring leaves of the tall trees, and so too the red hair of the young man who sat brooding beneath them.

Rand al’Thor sighed at the unfamiliar feelings the  _ stedding _ filled him with. It was a nice place, comforting, accepting, peaceful. But in the week they’d spent resting within its boundaries a strange and unsettling urge had grown within him. He wasn’t sure if it was his  _ ta’veren _ nature, his tie to the Pattern of the Ages, urging him to leave and be about his destiny, or if it was his ability to channel the tainted male half of the One Power demanding he do so, as he’d often heard it would if he spent too long staying in a place where he could not. He just knew he didn’t like the feeling. His innate Theren stubbornness came to the fore whenever anything, or anyone, tried to make him do anything, and that fact was not at all welcome in one whose fate had been written millennia before his birth, and who the Wheel of Time itself was intent on steering towards that fate whether he willed it or not. Rand had been told that his destiny was unchangeable, no matter what he did. He didn’t want to accept that though. The desire for change and the need to take action had been much on his mind of late.

Here in Stedding Tsochan his guards did not feel the need to shadow him quite as closely as they had in Falmerden and Valreis, but he could still see several top-knotted men lingering in the distance, always within sight of him. It irritated him still, the lack of privacy. He’d learned to tolerate it though, for the most part. Asha’bellanar’s attack had made it perfectly plain that he lacked the skill and power to defend himself from his enemies. He lived only by the grace of their folly, and that was a shield he could not rely on _. I must learn. I must grow stronger and fight smarter. And I can’t do that while hiding in a _ stedding, he thought. That was the only reason he needed to leave soon, he told himself. It was nothing to do with how addictive channelling the One Power was.

All his companions had come through Asha’bellanar’s attack without lasting injuries, thanks to Arwen and Nynaeve’s healing, and the Healings performed by the Aes Sedai on those who had been the most badly hurt. That had required a brief foray outside the  _ stedding _ ’s bounds, of course, and Rand had noted the relief on Nynaeve’s face when she volunteered to go. That relief had been quickly tinged with a troubled frown. Rand suspected Nynaeve was feeling the same need he felt, and that she liked it as little as he did. The comparison to a drunk’s need for his beer mug was all too easily made.

Still, no matter how unflattering that desire was, the fact remained that they could not stay here long. The Shadow had to know they had taken sanctuary in the nearby  _ stedding _ after Asha’bellanar’s attack—it was an obvious move. Whether the Forsaken herself returned, or some other of their agents came in her stead, Rand needed to be elsewhere, and soon.

Rising from his seat among the thick roots of the tree, Rand stretched his shoulders. At six foot six he was taller than most human men, but here in the  _ stedding _ , surrounded by Ogier, with everything built to their scale, he felt almost a child again.

As he headed deeper into the  _ stedding _ the Ogier’s homes soon came into view, each of them carved into the hills rather than crafted of wood and stone as a human building was. Ogier took great pains in the building to ensure that their homes were in harmony with the world around them. Humans cleared the world away to make room for what they wanted to place in its stead. That was another less-than-flattering comparison.

The Ogier in general seemed to be happier than humans, too. He hadn’t seen any kind of disagreements between them in the time he’d spent in their  _ stedding _ s. They strolled past him now, the men and women alike taller than any human, often humming songs as they went about their work. It was such a pleasant and peaceful place. He would miss it.

The streets of the  _ stedding _ moulded themselves to the trees, rather than the other way around. As he came around one such tree, Rand found Arwen coming the other way. He smiled at the sight of the Ogier healer, and realised he’d miss her, too. She was a foot and a half taller than he was, and definitely not slight, but her kindness made it hard to care about that. Stories sometimes painted the Ogier as intimidating and fearsome, but having met some of them Rand couldn’t imagine where people had gotten that belief from.

Arwen’s wide mouth curved into a smile when she saw Rand. Like all Ogier, she looked like and yet unlike a human. Her face and nose were broad, even taking into account her larger proportions, and her ears were long and tufted, and moved of their own accord. The woman’s eyebrows were shorter than those of his other Ogier friend, Loial, but still grew long enough to curtain the sides of her blue eyes. Those eyebrows were as bright a yellow as the thick mane of curling hair that crowned her head. It went well with her green dress and cloak.

“Hello Arwen,” he said when they drew closer, “are you off to work?”

“Not today, Rand,” she responded, her voice a light rumble. “With your friends having recovered so well there is little for me to do, thankfully.”

“Once again I must thank you for everything you did for them,” Rand said as, by unspoken agreement, she joined him in his stroll.

“There is no need to thank me. I welcomed the opportunity to practice my trade on humans. So few visit the  _ stedding _ these days. I must admit, when Loial first told me that there were injured humans on our borders I feared I would not be able to treat them properly. The remedies that work on Ogier do not necessarily work on humans, you understand. I was glad of Nynaeve’s help and advice in that.” Arwen paused, rubbing her hands together in a seemingly universal sign of nervousness. “Though Nynaeve seems a bit ... hasty, even by human standards.”

Rand grinned. That was simple truth. “Oh, she is that. But she means well.”

“Something you two have in common,” Arwen said kindly.

Rand smile faded to a grimace. “Good intentions will only take you so far, unfortunately.” He’d need a lot more than good intentions if he was going to fulfil the Prophecies of the Dragon. Though before he could do that he’d need to find out what the blasted Prophecies even said. The Dragon Reborn, as Rand had recently learned he was, had to fight and defeat the Dark One at the Last Battle; he knew that much and little else. He’d hoped to find a copy of the Prophecies here in Stedding Tsochan, but they had proven not to have one in their library.

Arwen patted his shoulder comfortingly. She didn’t know what he was—his people knew better than to speak of that openly—but she couldn’t have helped but notice how grim his moods often grew of late.

“Well, no matter how unfamiliar humans are to you, you did a fine job treating them. Everyone seems to have recovered well.”

“I’m glad. Though I wouldn’t say I’m completely unfamiliar with humankind. My grandmother was a great adventurer in her day. She even journeyed among the Sea Folk, and had many colourful tales to tell of her time Outside.” She shook her head wonderingly, her yellow braids brushing across her impressive bosom. “The things you humans get up to.”

Rand smiled. “Dare I ask? I’ve never met any of the Sea Folk. It wasn’t so very long ago that I knew next to nothing of the world outside the Theren.”

Arwen blushed. “I shouldn’t speak of it. Grandmother was ... odd. I loved her dearly, but none could deny that she was odd. What made you leave this Theren of yours? The desire for adventure perhaps?”

He shook his head. “Necessity. I would have stayed if I could, but duty demanded I do otherwise.”

“That’s a pity. Still, it must be nice to see so many strange places, and meet so many new people.”

“I guess.”

She patted his shoulder again. “Try to look on the bright side, Rand. You are so grim sometime. It worries me.”

He reached up to touch her hand with his own. “I suppose I should. It’s hard sometimes but ... you’re right. I can’t afford to waste my time brooding. There’s work to do.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” Arwen said slowly.

Their wanderings had brought them to a broad clearing where Ogier more roughly clad than Arwen were tending a field of crops. Loial stood speaking with several other Ogier; Treesingers, Rand knew. As the name implied, it was an ability among Ogier that allowed them to shape the natural world using their voices. Apparently, it had once been common among them but had grown rare in recent generations.

_ Old things die, and new ones are born. The Wheel turns _ . Not far from Loial stood a pretty, dark-haired girl in boy’s clothes. Min Farshaw had the unique ability to see someone’s future in the images and auras that she, and only she, saw surrounding them. It was an ability that had been unheard of until she manifested it. Min didn’t particularly welcome her visions, but she had learned to live with them. Rand would have to take her example, and learn to live with his channelling. For as long as he was able to at least.

Elayne was with Min, of course. They were fast friends, and were usually found in each other’s company. The Daughter-Heir of Andor looked particularly beautiful today, the new warmth of spring having allowed her to shed the heavy furs she’d worn on their long journey east from Falme. She wore a rich, high-necked dress of red silk chased with white. Andoran colours, and often favoured by her. Rand often wore red as well, but in his case it was just because he liked the colour.

The girls greeted them warmly as they approached, though Min added her commiserations to Arwen for having to put up with a great lummox like Rand. He rolled his eyes in response, unoffended. Min was just teasing. She did that with everyone, as best he could tell.

Arwen didn’t know Min as well as Rand did though. “It is no trouble at all, Min,” she said defensively, “I’m glad of the company.”

Min clapped her hands to her cheeks in overly-dramatic shock. “Even Rand’s!? You poor girl, you must be so lonely. Do the other Ogier shun you? Whyever for?”

“No, I have never been shunned. I know of no-one who has.” Arwen looked as confused as she sounded, and glanced at Rand as though hoping he could explain.

“Min,” said Elayne, her usually high voice lowered in warning.

Elayne had tried to teach Rand the value of diplomacy, but he preferred to be blunt. “Don’t worry about Min, Arwen. She likes to tease people. You can take maybe one in every five words out of her mouth seriously. On a good day.” He smiled as he said it though. Truth be told, he rather enjoyed Min’s irreverent sense of humour. It was a pleasant break from all the seriousness of being the Dragon Reborn.

“Ah, yes. My grandmother told me some humans were like that. I didn’t understand it at the time.”

“Min means no offense,” said Elayne. “She generally only teases people she likes. She can be perfectly serious when she needs to be.”

Min blushed at that, and glanced at Rand before quickly looking away.

“Being serious is such an effort though,” Min gritted.

Arwen studied her carefully for a moment, before a wide grin spilt her face. “I hope I am not being overly hasty, but I suspect that is not completely true, Min.”

Min put a hand to her heart. “Arwen! I have never been more insulted in my life. How could you say such a thing?”

The Ogier woman looked a bit flustered suddenly, but she stood her ground with a visible effort. “This is just more teasing, you silly girl. Isn’t it?” That last she delivered with horrified uncertainly, and Min burst into laughter at the sight.

“Rand was being too generous,” she said when she could catch her breath. “It’s more like one word in every ten. You’re too cute, Arwen. I hope I haven’t gotten on your nerves too badly. Honestly this time. I’d like to think of you as a friend.”

“Well I do like to meet new people. The stranger the better,” said Arwen with a grin that Min matched.

“And mend their hurts. I must thank you once again for all you have done for us,” Elayne said.

Arwen waved a hand. “Again you are quite welcome. It was no trouble at all.”

Rand noticed the way Min grimaced though. All of their hurts had been his fault in a way, but especially Min’s. Asha’bellanar had tortured her in front of him, in hopes of forcing him to tell her where Morrigan was hiding. And he’d refused to talk, unable to betray one to save the other. He wondered if Min blamed him for that, and if he would ever be able to work up the nerve to ask her.

“I’m leaving soon,” he said, suddenly serious. “It might be best if you two waited here a little while longer. To let me draw my enemies away from you I mean.”

“That seems counter-productive, Rand. Though I thank you for your concern, misguided as it may be,” Elayne said. “Exactly how soon will we be leaving?”

Rand wondered if he’d imagined the eagerness in her voice. “Tomorrow if I have my way. We need to not be where they know us to be. That’s the reason, not because I don’t like being in a  _ stedding _ or anything.” He grimaced, hoping that didn’t seem as defensive to her as it did to him.

“This is the first time I’ve had the pleasure of visiting a  _ stedding _ . It is all I was promised it would be,” said Elayne. Her words were diplomatic, but the look she shared with Rand carried a hidden meaning. He nodded his understanding. That was something they shared, the uncomfortable need to channel the One Power. Though in her case doing so was relatively safe, since only  _ saidin _ had been tainted by the Dark One.

“For me too,” Min said with an oblivious grin. “I swear, just walking into a  _ stedding _ makes you feel better.”

“All of you are welcome to stay,” said Arwen. “You haven’t explained how you came to be injured or what you are running from ...”

The three humans exchanged guarded looks. “The Shadow,” Rand answered, after a pause. “Isn’t it always the Shadow?”

Arwen nodded. “The Dark One is the enemy of all things. Though it is more than troubling to find his creatures so close to Stedding Tsochan. Perhaps with Caralain having disbanded so recently our borders are less secure than the Elders thought.”

“Recently? I barely knew it existed,” Min muttered.

“Does Moiraine know that you’re planning to leave?” asked Elayne.

Rand shook his head. “I haven’t spoken to her about it.” Moiraine still thought she had the right to give Rand orders, even if he was the Dragon Reborn. Rand disagreed.

“Well if we’re leaving tomorrow I’d best ensure I’m ready. I should like to see more of the  _ stedding _ before we leave,” said Elayne. She waved her goodbyes and strolled off, arm in arm with Min.

“I do too, but duty calls,” Rand muttered as he watched them go. After a time he turned and walked in the opposite direction, towards the cottage the Ogier had loaned him. All the  _ stedding _ s had guest quarters set aside and unlike human inns they did not charge for your stay.

Arwen came with him, and along the way they happened upon Perrin, Anna and Hurin, relaxing in the welcome sun.

Stocky, short-haired Anna smiled lazily at the sight of him. With Arwen looming at Rand’s shoulder it was hard not to compare their heights. The Ogier was almost twice as tall as the Theren girl, though if anything, Anna seemed less unsettled by the differences that he was. But then, given that they’d only ever met a few people who were shorter than she was, she was probably used to having to look up. “It’s good to be back in the  _ stedding _ ,” Anna said casually.

“Yes ...” he agreed, and then hesitated. It seemed a shame to spoil her good mood by announcing his intentions, but he knew she’d want to know he was leaving.

Perrin knew Rand well. “How soon do you plan to leave?” Brown-haired and muscular, the former blacksmith’s apprentice had eyes of an unnatural yellow colour. Those eyes were full of regret now, as they had often been of late.

“Tomorrow,” Rand answered.

Perrin sighed. “That’s a pity.”

“You don’t have to come with me. It might be safer if you didn’t.” None of them had stood a chance against Asha’bellanar, and if the Forsaken was still lurking nearby and had changed her mind about killing Rand ...

“Obviously we’re going with you, Rand. Don’t be a woolhead,” said Anna with an exasperated shake of her head.

“Of course we are, Lord Rand. I can’t see why you’d ever doubt it,” said the greying thieftaker, Hurin. Unlike Perrin and Anna, he was not a friend of Rand’s childhood but he was so loyal you might have thought otherwise. Rand didn’t know what he’d done to deserve such loyalty, and feared they would all come to regret giving it to him.

“I imagine you’ll be happy to see the back of us, Arwen, so you can get back to your peace and quiet,” said Anna.

“Not at all,” Arwen rumbled. “We’ve seldom had such lively guests. At the risk of being too hasty, I would even go so far as to say I will miss you.”

Rand smiled. “We’ll miss you too.”

“And the peace and quiet,” Perrin sighed. Anna and Hurin nodded their agreement and Rand felt guilty all over again. They really couldn’t afford to stay though. The  _ stedding _ couldn’t defend them if the Shadow came in force, it would be better by far if they were on the move.

Having delivered his bad news, he left their company morosely. Arwen came with him once more, looking concerned. “You truly don’t have to leave if you don’t want to.”

Rand’s smile was wan this time. “I wish that was true, Arwen. But there’s an enemy I have to face and a battle I have to win.”

The door to his cottage was sized for an Ogier; it and the furnishings inside were big enough to leave Rand feeling almost as if he was a child again. He paused in the entrance, savouring the sights and the feelings they evoked.

“You humans spend so much of your time fighting. It’s a pity, there’s so much else you could do.”

“That’s ... true in many ways, but not the whole story. There was almost never any fighting back home in the Theren. Though in places like the Borderlands there is almost never anything  _ but _ fighting. They use ‘peace’ as an oath up there. All told, I’d have preferred to stay in the Theren. Perrin and Anna would have too, I know.”

Arwen rested a heavy hand on his shoulder. “I meant no offense. I’ve always been curious about humans.”

“And none was taken,” Rand assured her, patting her hand. “You’re very kind, and sweet. I doubt you could ever offend me.”

Arwen blushed at his compliments, and Rand found himself considering doing something very ... hasty.

“You know ...” he began slowly, “if you’re really curious about humans there is a way you could get to know them better. Or get to know one human better at least. I’d be ... more than willing to indulge your curiosity. I’m quite curious about you, too.”

Her ears twitched. “What do you mean?”

“Well ... I’d like to explore you, so to speak. In the bedroom, say.”

Arwen’s already large blue eyes got even larger, and a confused frown drew her thick eyebrows into a v. “Are you ill, Rand?”

_ Well there are some who have claimed it’s sick, but I don’t feel particularly unwell _ , he thought. “No,” he said.

“Then I don’t understand your meaning.”

He laughed softly. It seemed he’d have to be even blunter. “I mean sex, Arwen. I’d like to have sex with you.”

She gasped. “That ...! I know humans are hasty by nature, but I never imagined! We only just met! And ... and ...”

“I’ve known you long enough to know I find you very attractive. I can’t promise marriage, of course, and I’ll be leaving soon, but I’d hate myself if I left without at least making the offer.”

Arwen’s ears were twitching madly now. “Just like that? Humans ... I-I’ve never even kissed a human before ...”

He smiled. “Well I volunteer as a test subject.”

The Ogier woman’s giggle reminded him off the sound a bee makes when it passes your ear. “T-there are so many reasons I shouldn’t. We should at least talk for a few months first ... but I ... oh, why not?”

She blushed again as she stepped towards him and leant her broad face down towards his. Her mouth was so wide that he could not hope to truly meet her lips with his, but what he was able to touch was warm and soft and sent a sweet tingle through his body. He touched her yellow mane as they kissed, finding it a little odd to the touch, each strand of hair being thicker than he was used to touching with humans. Her own hands eventually reached out to gently explore his body.

Arwen’s ear protruded through her thick hair. They were long and tufted and looked delicate to Rand, despite their size. Curiosity drove him to touch them, his nimble fingers tracing the inner pathways slowly. He cupped her ears in his palms and gave them a gentle, experimental squeeze, and was shocked at the loud moan Arwen released.

“Those small fingers can reach so many places. I never thought ...” She cupped his face in her giant mits and kissed him again, more hungrily this time.

Encouraged, Rand let a hand roam across her chest and squeezed the huge globe of her breast through the heavy fabric of her dress.

Arwen broke their kiss and leaned back from him, biting her lip. “I can’t believe I’m actually going to do this. It’s so hasty, and not at all like me, but ... Oh, Light burn it all, you are too small and cute.”

Rand blinked. He’d been called many things in his life, but never small and cute before. He was still trying to frame a response when Arwen scooped him up in her arms, lifting his supposedly heavy body with ease. She had an arm across his shoulders and another under his knees, and held him like that as she walked towards the bedroom. Rand found himself blushing. There seemed something a bit wrong about the whole situation, but then he was the one who’d thought to proposition an Ogier woman so perhaps he had no room to complain of any strangeness.

His possessions looked small scattered about the bedroom with its Ogier-sized furnishings. Rand felt small, too, when Arwen sat on the bed and deposited him gently in its centre. She lay at his side and kissed him some more, her hands roaming boldly over his body, prodding and squeezing experimentally.

Rand was of a mind to do the same to her. Her dress laced up at the front and proved easily undone. When he pushed back the green curtains and let her creamy globes spill forth, he couldn’t help but gasp softly. They were nearly the size of his head, and the nipples that tipped them were as thick as his thumb. He squeezed a breast in both hands and brought the nipple to his mouth.

Arwen gasped as he sucked on her. She cupped the back of his head in one palm and pressed his face against her flesh encouragingly. Rand was happy to indulge her. She made encouraging noises as he rolled his tongue back and forth across her sensitive flesh.

Her free hand tugged at his coat and shirt, trying and failing to undo the smaller ties of the human clothes. Rand released her breast and took her hand in his, smiling as he moved it away. Hastily, he set about shedding his clothes.

A red-faced Arwen watched him undress. When he shed his smallclothes her eyes were drawn to the cock that jutted upwards. Rand knew he was large by human standards, but he could only assume he’d be considered small for an Ogier. He’d have to work extra hard to satisfy her. Arwen didn’t seem at all disappointed at the sight of him though. She smiled broadly. “You truly find me pretty then? I didn’t think humans would.”

He smiled back at her. “This human certainly does. And he’d like to see more of you.”

Giggling, the Ogier woman rose from the bed long enough to push her dress down over her wide hips. Her underwear went with it, revealing a tangled yellow bush at the apex of legs as thick as tree trunks.

Arwen looked at him uncertainly, and Rand, who liked what he was seeing, reached out to her with a happy smile. Smiling back, she took his hands in hers and let him pull her back to the bed. It shook as her weight came to rest on it.

The human and the Ogier explored each other’s naked bodies with matching curiosities. When Rand caressed his way up Arwen’s thigh towards her sex, she parted her legs slightly to give him access, and sighed out a moan as his fingers began to explore her folds. She felt not very dissimilar from a human woman’s down there, though bigger, of course. That little nub was not as little as usual, and when he rolled it between his thumb and finger the sound she let out was not at all displeased.

Eager to repay the favour, Arwen grasped Rand’s cock in her hand. She encompassed him almost completely and he could feel her strength in her grip, but when she rubbed her palm up and down his length, she did so slowly and gently.

She liked what he was doing, and she’d liked it when he kissed her nipples and touched her ears, so Rand moved to do all three at once. She really liked that. Soon the huge Ogier woman was gyrating helplessly on the bed at his side. Her ear twitched in his hand, but could not escape his grip. Not that she seemed to want to, judging by the way she hugged him to her and jerked at his manhood.

“Oh. Oh. Oh, Rand!” she cried as she came with flattering haste. She squeezed her huge eyes shut as the orgasm surged through her, and her mouth hung cavernously open, while her ear and her sex both twitched incessantly in his hands. Rand grinned as he watched her writhe in her pleasure.

When her eyes drifted open they were hazy with satisfaction. She smiled and pulled him down for another kiss.

But Rand wanted more than a kiss now. “Can I put it inside you?” he murmured against her hot lips.

“Yes. Do whatever you want,” she said softly, spreading her legs.

Rand clambered atop her eagerly. Her breasts made a welcome pillow for his chest as he found her wet crevice and slipped inside. He groaned against the Ogier’s mouth as he entered her body, and she kept kissing him all the while. Her kisses continued as he began fucking her in earnest, his cock slamming all the way into her with each thrust. There was certainly no need to worry about hurting her with it, unlike with some of the smaller women he’d known.

Arwen wrapped her inhumanly strong arms and legs around Rand’s body, trapping him against her until he felt like it was not only his manhood, but his entire body that was covered in her heat. He grasped her ears once more, and worried for a brief moment that he’d done so too roughly, but the sounds Arwen let out were not of pain and Rand soon abandoned all worry. Mindlessly he pursued his pleasure, and his Ogier lover let him, rocking her hips against his as he slammed into her again and again, her huge breasts shaking in time to their rhythm while her voice, deeper and louder than his mind told him a woman’s should be, yet so obviously not masculine, encouraged him in pursuit of the pleasure he craved.

When his orgasm came upon him, it was as sudden as it was pleasurable. Rand moaned Arwen’s name as he came inside her. He collapsed breathlessly atop her, unconcerned for once about his weight and the safety of the woman beneath. Bonelessly he lay upon Arwen’s heavy, soft chest, moaning softly as he spurted inside her. Only his fingers kept moving, toying with her ears the way she liked.

“Light that was good,” he gasped.

“Very,” she agreed, “but could you ... could you stay just a little bit longer. I’m so close ...”

Rand smiled. “I think I can manage that. But you’ll have to take charge.”

“Take charge? Oh, right.” Her gaze grew concerned. “But are you sure I won’t crush you?”

His smile broadened. “I trust you.” That was true, he found. It was hard to think of a reason anyone wouldn’t trust Arwen.

Smiling back at him, she rolled them over gently and knelt above him. He enjoyed the way her breasts swayed as she moved, and enjoyed it even more when she began bouncing in his lap, always careful to ensure her hips never collided fully with his. Rand thought she was being a bit too careful—he was sure he could take whatever she had to give—but her gentle restraint was so touching that he hadn’t the heart to urge her away from it. He found her not-so-little nub and began to rub it for her, watching as the pleasure built once more in the huge woman.

Arwen must have found the situation as thrillingly untoward as he did, for she didn’t spend very long bouncing in Rand’s lap before her gentle rising and falling became more forceful. Her giant, pendulous breasts flapped in the air and she screamed as she came. Rand couldn’t really feel it inside her, not the way he would with a human woman, but he enjoyed the sight and sound of her all the same.

Groaning, Arwen collapsed onto her side, careful to avoid resting her full eight upon her smaller, human lover. Her broad head came to rest upon his arm. Rand smiled, and kissed the breathless Ogier woman’s lips more confidently than before.

She let out a long breath. “Well. If this is what comes of you humans being so hasty all the time, I can somewhat understand why you do it.”

He chuckled, and moved his kisses to her cheeks and brow. “It certainly has its good points.”

It was late enough, and Rand would be up early enough tomorrow, that he would have been happy to fall asleep like that, curled up beside the naked Ogier, but Arwen spoke again. “I should probably go back to my own house. If I slept here people would notice, and talk.”

“I don’t mind if you stay. It would be nice. And I’m a bit past caring what people say about me. But I’ve always understood the value of discretion, and if you’d rather leave I won’t hold it against you.”

Arwen looked conflicted. “I would like to stay, truly. But ... the Elders would never let me hear the end of it. Especially after what happened to grandmother. Are you hurt?”

“No, not at all,” he said, and kissed her one more time to show he meant it. “Besides. It will allow me to peek at you while you get dressed.”

Arwen laughed. “You are such a bad man!”

“The worst,” he agreed lazily. He made good on his threat too. When Arwen clambered from the bed to fetch her clothes, Rand lay back and endeavoured to etch the sight of her onto his memory. The fleshy cheeks of her bottom were as huge, to his human eyes, as her breasts, and as nice to look at.

“Seeing those cheeks, I wish I had the energy left to take you from behind. You’re very pretty, Arwen.”

She grinned back at him as she pulled up her underwear. The motion made her breasts hang low. “Perhaps if we ever meet again I’ll let you.”

“One more reason to hope that we do then.”

She was quiet for a time. Only when she was lacing up the bodice of her dress did she finally respond. “You know. I think I would like that, Rand. I think I’d like that a lot.” She leaned over and kissed his brow before making her way towards the door, walking oddly. It took a moment for his brain to process the sight, given her huge size, but it finally dawned on him that she was skipping. He was still grinning long after the Ogier woman had left.


	5. To the Black Hills

CHAPTER 2: To the Black Hills

There was a slight complication when it came time to leave Stedding Tsochan. It wasn’t a problem of Arwen’s making, for she bade Rand farewell in a perfectly friendly way, with only her secret smile to tell of what had passed between them. No, the problem was with Moiraine, who tried to insist that they stay another day. Rand pressed her for a reason and got only her assurance that it was necessary, or in other words, her insistence on obedience and blind trust, two things Rand had no intention of giving her. Or anyone else for that matter.

It was no less than he’d come to expect of Moiraine. The Aes Sedai seemed intent on controlling everything she could about Rand. Fortunately, in this case it was easy to get around her. He simply ordered his Shienaran armsmen and the two maids who’d attached themselves to him to be ready to depart within the hour. If Moiraine wanted to stay that was fine with Rand, he’d just leave without her. If the people sworn to him were more inclined to heed the Aes Sedai than he liked, they were not inclined enough to betray or abandon him for her sake.

So when he rode out of Stedding Tsochan that morning he did so with Moiraine Damodred at his side, clad in a fine blue dress and looking even more expressionless than usual. She rode with dignity but he somehow thought that he could feel her anger, and whenever he glanced at her she seemed to try and stare him down with those dark, slightly hooded eyes of hers.

Rand rode armed and armoured, as did the Shienaran lancers who surrounded him. His armour was borrowed, like the red stallion he rode. He’d borrowed Red from Master Gill almost a year ago now. That was so long ago that even Oren Dautry would have been embarrassed to have kept it that long. Rand resolved to see the horse returned to his owner if they passed by Caemlyn, perhaps with some coin to make up for the long delay. He still had quite a bit of it left over from the ill-gotten goods they’d seized from those supposed Dragonsworn in Falmerden.

The armour wasn’t enough to make Rand feel safe, not against the kind of enemies he had. And one of them was waiting for him on the outskirts of the  _ stedding _ .

He felt it immediately. Between one step and the next he left the peace and well-being of the  _ stedding _ behind and found the glow of  _ saidin _ . It called to him like a long lost friend, and he appalled himself with the sudden surge of eagerness he felt upon its return. Even knowing about the taint and the fate it would doom any male channeler to, he still felt that fierce desire to reach out and seize the Source. He ignored the urge for a while, even as he heard relieved sighs from Elayne and Nynaeve, riding just behind him. Moiraine and the other Aes Sedai, Verin, kept themselves more under control, but he thought he saw a slight relaxing in Moiraine’s stiff posture, too.

Rand resisted stubbornly but another thought tugged at him. He’d failed to defeat Asha’bellanar and almost died for his weakness. If—when!—he ever had to face a Forsaken again he needed to be much more in control of his ability. That meant he had to practice, to learn more about  _ saidin _ and how to channel it reliably. So, no matter how disgusting the taint was or how shameful he found his desire to channel, he sought the void, feeding doubt and fear to the flame along with all other distractions.  _ Saidin _ was waiting for him there, in that dark quiet place. It was like a glowing sun just at the corner of his eye. All he had to do was reach out and grab it. He did so, letting it fill him with the glory and the horror of the tainted male half of the One Power.

It came to him at the first attempt that day, and Rand carefully memorised the feeling before making himself release it once more. Always before when he’d actually managed to seize  _ saidin _ he’d held onto it for as long as he could, because he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to seize it again when he needed it. The fear was still there, for if any more of his enemies were waiting in those woods he would need the One Power to fight them, but he fed that fear to the flame as well. Instead, he made himself practice as they rode, releasing and grabbing  _ saidin _ over and over again. Sometimes it didn’t come still, but he kept at it and hoped he wasn’t imagining how rarer those times were growing.

* * *

The Black Hills were a rugged and sparsely populated place, according to all that Elayne had been taught of them. The few towns that remained professed allegiance to no nation, not even to lost Caralain, the land from whose population they were commonly believed to be descended. They were not completely isolated from the wider world however. Tar Valon kept somewhat cordial relations with the people of the Black Hills, and the White Tower sometimes sent its more recalcitrant initiates to do penance on the poor farms scattered throughout the region. Elayne herself had been threatened with such a penance on more than one occasion. Rather unfairly, in her view, for she had dedicated herself to her studies with what she felt was a most humble zeal.

She kept a wary eye on their surroundings as she rode Lioness across the rolling countryside in the middle of a ring of Shienaran steel. She had absolutely no reason to doubt the bravery or valour of the soldiers who surrounded them, but none of that had been enough to stop the Forsaken who’d attacked them before. Her own channelling hadn’t done any better, nor Rand’s, nor Moiraine’s. It was embarrassing to recall how easily they’d been defeated, and the explanation for their miraculous survival was far from reassuring. They’d apparently been spared only because the Dark One wanted Rand alive.

_ Why? He is the Dragon Reborn. The sworn enemy of the Shadow, prophesised to defeat them. Why would they want him to live, what use do they plan to put him to? _ Elayne could not think of an answer, but the question troubled her greatly.

The man in question was not in a forthcoming mood. Rand rode in their midst but spoke rarely. He spent most of the days that followed their departure from the  _ stedding _ lost in thought, or staring about him as though at things only he could see. Elayne regretted that. She would have liked to take the opportunity to spend more time in his company, especially since they were drawing closer and closer to Tar Valon’s borders and the parting that must inevitably happen there. Unless Rand meant to go to the White Tower with her, which she very much doubted. She’d have to try and talk him out of it if he did; the Tower was not at all safe for him.

Even in his silence Rand was not alone. Uno or Geko, the Shienaran officers, were never far from his side. Armed, armoured, hard-faced men, with exotic topknots; they made for an impressive sight. Not as impressive as the Queen’s Guards, of course, but impressive still. One of the two maids he’d acquired usually rode just behind him, too, though he never seemed to give them orders the way one might expect. The two girls looked very small on the warhorses he’d given them, waifish little things that they were. Those horses had belonged to some of the soldiers who’d fallen in the fighting in Falmerden. Elayne rather doubted that Rose and Thistle were their original names, and privately wondered what, if anything, the horses thought about the change.

His dour and thick-shouldered friend Perrin was nearly as silent as Rand. He usually rode with the vanguard, though with his head lowered so much that his curls almost hid his yellow eyes. He responded to any questions with as few words as possible, and the Shienarans soon took the hint.

Unlike Perrin, Rand’s silence was not enough to drive people away from his side. Whether it was the giant Ogier Loial, grey-haired and loyal Hurin, or one of the two Aes Sedai, he often had visitors. They took his bad mood surprisingly well, all except Nynaeve at least. The pretty former Wisdom was as waspish as always, and not at all averse to telling the Dragon Reborn to stop sulking; all while tugging at her dark brown braid, of course.

Elayne did not want for company either, thank the Light. Her Min was never far from her side, bright and beautiful with her nearly black hair, and her huge brown eyes.

“Hills is the right word for them. If they’d called these things mountains I’d be almost offended. They’re not a patch on the Mountains of Mist,” she said, several days into their journey. They were weaving their way through the Black Hills proper by then, and Anna al’Tolan was riding with them. The stocky Therener got along well with Min; they both cut their hair short, dressed in boys’ clothes and cared little for tradition. Elayne had often felt that Anna cared little for her, too, and so was left feeling excluded from their talk.

“Definitely. I’ll admit, the Mountains of Doom and the Spine of the World might actually be bigger, at least in places, but these?” Anna waved her hand dismissively. “Mere pebbles in comparison.”

“It almost makes me miss home. But then I remember how little anyone but my aunts are missing me, and come to my senses,” said Min.

Anna grew solemn. “I only have cousins left in the Theren. Estranged ones. But I still miss it.”

“Hopefully you’ll see it again one day. And maybe I’ll go with you. It’s kind of funny, you know. I used to think of the downcountry villages as being far away, but with all the travelling we’ve done lately ... We were practically neighbours, and didn’t know it.”

Anna nodded. “The world doesn’t seem as huge as it used to.”

“I actually think it has grown bigger,” Elayne put in. “What with the Seanchan continent’s existence having been revealed, and survivors of the Age of Legends now walking among us. In such troubled times, it seems more and more crucial that we Andorans rally together.”

“We beat the Seanchan once already, and the Forsaken ...” Min’s smile faltered, but she forged ahead. “Well, the Horn of Valere should be usable again by now. So if they come back we will be able to deal with them, too.” Her brave words were somewhat undercut by the nervous way she licked her lips.

“We’re not Andorans,” Anna muttered.

Elayne made sure of her dignity before responding. The Theren folk had some odd ideas. “Andor’s borders extend to the River Alguenya, Mistress al’Tolan, as you will see on any recent map of Valgarda. Both Baerlon and the Theren are included within those borders,” she said reasonably.

Anna snorted rudely. “Only if you consider recent to be a few hundred years ago. I’d never even heard of this nonsense about being Andoran until I visited Caemlyn. And I certainly don’t remember seeing any of the Queen’s Guard fighting Trollocs back when they attacked our farms.”

“That was a tragic oversight, I freely admit. I assure you, I will see that rectified. The Theren will see an increased presence from the Lion Throne in future.”

She meant the words as reassurance, but Anna glared at her as though threatened.

“I’ve never understood why people make such a big deal out of a piece of coloured cloth,” Min mused. “Does it really matter what kind of flag some rich woman flies over her house?”

“It does,” said Anna curtly. Elayne agreed but held her silence, as she did not want to argue with Min.

It wasn’t long after that when she became aware of what Rand was doing in his silences. It was hard not to notice when the small, sparsely leaved trees they passed began bursting into flame each time he looked at them. From a distance she could see Moiraine arguing with him, but Rand’s face was stubbornly set. Even so, and even knowing what he was doing, he was still gorgeous. The trees they passed that day kept burning, each and every one. During the Battle of Tarcain Cut she’d noticed him sometimes struggle to embrace  _ saidin _ when he wanted to, but he didn’t miss a single target on that day’s journey. Part of her felt that she should be more troubled by that than she was.

Seeing him gave her an excuse to practice her own channelling. She’d been trying to resist embracing  _ saidar _ too often since leaving the  _ stedding _ , for no more reason than because she wanted to embrace it so badly. Somehow that unnatural desire seemed like something she should fight against. She wondered if Rand was feeling the same desire as she, and if that wasn’t the reason he was now channelling so much more often than he had used to.

It wasn’t until the next day that she worked up the nerve to speak to him about it. His guards admitted her to his tent early in the morning, though not before young Izana had ducked his head inside to ensure that Rand was in the mood for company.

Elayne was fully dressed and ready for the day’s ride, but Rand was still in his shirtsleeves and seemed to have just finished shaving by the light of a single lamp. His maid, Saeri, passed Elayne on her way out, carrying a pitcher and basin and wearing a happy smile. Elayne barely noticed her, for Rand’s unlaced shirt was showing quite a bit of deep, hairless chest.  _ Focus, girl! It would not do for him to catch you staring. _

“Is something wrong?” he said, and she snapped her eyes up to his. “It’s not like you to visit me without a reason.”

“Isn’t it?” she said, a touch breathlessly. Perhaps it wasn’t at that. And perhaps that had been a mistake. In all their time together, he still hadn’t attempted to kiss her. And it certainly wasn’t because he was shy. Perhaps if she had been bolder ... But no. It was for the man to initiate such things. A woman shouldn’t have to chase. It-it just wasn’t proper.

It also wasn’t why she had come now. “I came to help you with channelling,” she told him. “With the Power. If I can.” It was claimed that a woman could not teach a man to channel any more than she could teach him how to bear a child, but surely there was something she could teach him, some guidance she could offer.

Rand frowned suspiciously. “The Amyrlin and the rest of the Aes Sedai say that’s impossible.”

“They believe that. But they also believed the Heroes would fight for the Shadow if a Darkfriend sounded the Horn of Valere,” she said fiercely. “What can it hurt to try? I came because ... because I care for you. Perhaps it will not work, but you can try. If I care enough to try, you can try, too. Is it so unimportant to you that you cannot spare me an hour? For your life?”

He stared at her so intently that for a moment Elayne forgot to breath. With a shiver he pulled his eyes away and shifted his feet, frowning at the floor. “I will try,” he muttered. “It’ll do no good, but I will ... What do you want me to do?”

“Look at me,” she said, embracing  _ saidar _ . She let the Power fill her as completely as it ever had, more completely, accepting every drop she could hold; it was as if light suffused every particle of her, as if the Light itself filled every cranny. Life seemed to burst inside her like fireworks. She had never before let this much in. It was a shock to realize she was not quivering; surely she could not bear this glorious sweetness. She wanted to revel in it, to dance and sing, to simply lie back and let it roll through her, over her. She made herself speak. “What do you see? What do you feel?”

He lifted his head slowly, still frowning. “I see you. What am I supposed to see? Are you touching the Source? Elayne, Moiraine has channelled around me a hundred times, and I never saw anything. Except what she did. It doesn’t work that way. Even I know that much.”

“I am stronger than Moiraine,” she told him calmly. “Without an  _ angreal _ she would not be able to hold as much  _ saidar _ as I am holding now.” It was true, though she would never have been so crass as to say so in her aunt’s company.

It cried out to be used, this Power pulsing through her stronger than heartblood. She wished she could use it to Heal the wound in Rand’s side that no-one could ever seem to Heal completely, but sadly she had no Talent for Healing and Nynaeve, who was even stronger than her, had already tried and failed multiple times.

Curiously, she spun out hair-fine flows of Air and Water and Spirit, the Powers used for Healing and felt for his old injury. One touch, and she recoiled, shivering, snatching back her weaving. It seemed that all the darkness in the world rested there in Rand’s side, all the world’s evil in a festering sore only lightly covered by tender scar tissue. A thing like that would soak up Healing flows like drops of water on dry sand. How could he bear the pain? Why was he not weeping?

“You are at least as strong as I. I know it; you must be. Feel, Rand. What do you feel?”

_ Light, what can Heal that? Can anything? _

“I don’t feel anything,” he muttered, shifting his feet. “Goose bumps. And no wonder. It’s not that I don’t trust you, Elayne, but I cannot help being nervous when a woman is channelling around me. I’m sorry.”

With an effort she released  _ saidar _ , and it was an effort. The sense of loss it left behind troubled her. “I am not touching the Source now, Rand.” She stepped closer and peered up at him. He was very tall, and muscular as well. “Do you still feel goose bumps?”  _ Or butterflies? Because I do _ .

“No. But that’s just because you told me.” She embraced  _ saidar _ again and he gave an abrupt shrug of his shoulders. “You see? I started thinking about it, and I have them again.”

Elayne smiled triumphantly. “You can sense a woman embracing the Source, Rand. I did so again just now.” He squinted at her. “It doesn’t matter what you see or don’t see. You felt it. We have that much. Let’s see what else we can find. Rand, embrace the Source. Embrace  _ saidin _ .”

Rand just stood there, staring at the floor and sometimes blushing. She studied him fixedly, but for all she could tell he wasn’t doing anything at all. She shook her head in vexation.

“I feel nothing at all,” she said sternly. “You said you would do as I asked, Rand. Are you? If you felt something, so should I, and I do not—” She broke off with a stifled yelp. Something had pinched her bottom. Rand’s lips twitched, clearly fighting a grin. “That,” she told him crisply, “was not nice.”

He tried to keep his face innocent, but the grin slipped. “You said you wanted to feel something, and I just thought—” He roared suddenly and, clapping a hand to his left buttock, began hobbling in a pained circle. “Blood and ashes, Elayne!” he cursed, for once not hesitating to use her given name. “There was no need to—” He fell off into deeper, inaudible mutters.

Elayne smiled to herself, secretly pleased by the familiarity he showed her, even if it came in such a childish form. She came close to giggling as she rubbed herself surreptitiously and watched him limp around. That should show him. Though from the way he was moving she might, in her shock, have put a little more force into it than she had intended. “Do something with the Power, something that isn’t childish,” she teased. “Perhaps I will be able to sense that.”

Hunched, he glared at her. “Do something,” he muttered. “You had no call to—I’ll limp for—You want me to do something?”

Suddenly she lifted into the air. She stared, wide-eyed, as she floated several feet above the ground. There was nothing holding her, no flows Elayne could feel or see. Nothing.  _ Saidar _ abruptly vanished from her and her alarm spiked—she could feel its warmth and light—but between her and the True Source stood something, nothing, an absence that shut her away from the Source like a stone wall. She felt hollow inside, until panic welled up to fill her. A man was channelling, and she was caught in it. He was Rand, of course, but dangling there like a basket, helpless, all she could think of was a man channelling, and the taint on  _ saidin _ .

“You want me to do something?” Rand growled. “Be careful what you wish for, you may find it more dangerous than you thought. Even now  _ saidin _ does not always obey me. Sometimes it runs wild. Sometimes there’s nothing there when I reach for it, and sometimes it does things I don’t ... I shouldn’t use it at all, but ... but I have to. What other weapon would suffice against them?” The fire in the lamp blazed so hot that the metal began to melt.

His anger evaporated as quickly as it had flared. He grimaced, and pulled his eyes away from her. He stared at the lamp until its light returned to a more normal brightness, though whatever he did was not enough to fix its wilted form. Whatever was holding her aloft vanished, along with the shield, and her heels thumped back to earth. Unnerved, Elayne staggered as she landed. She embraced  _ saidar _ as quickly as she could and threw a shield of her own at Rand, one that would block him off from the Source for a while, just as he had blocked her. And when had he figured out how to do that? Elayne’s jaw dropped when she saw her shield rebound off nothing. She tried again, but she might as well have been trying to push over one of the  _ stedding _ ’s Great Trees with her bare hands for all the effect it had.

The most unnerving part of her failure was that Rand didn’t even seem to notice her efforts to shield him. He avoided looking at her altogether. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have ... I’m sorry. Perhaps you had better go. I seem to say that a lot.” He blushed again and cleared his throat.

“We are not done yet. And I will not go until we are. You said you would try. You must try,” Elayne said with a firmness that was as much for her as for him. With so many exclaiming over her strength—everyone said she and Nynaeve would be among the strongest Aes Sedai, if not the strongest, in a thousand years or more—she had assumed they were as strong as he. Near to it, at least. She had just been rudely disabused. She very much feared he could handle her like a kitten if he wanted to. Not that he seemed to want to, unfortunately.

“I did say that, didn’t I?” he murmured after a time. “At least we can sit down.”

“What do you want me to do now?” He sat on one of his stools, hands on his knees. “I promise I won’t do anything but what you ask this time.”

Elayne took a seat as well and schooled herself to calmness. Yet she had not let go of  _ saidar _ . And not just because of how sweet it felt. “This time,” she said, “I just want you to talk. How do you embrace the Source? Just tell me. Take it step by step, slowly.”

“More like wrestling than embracing.” He grunted. “Step by step? Well, first I imagine a flame and then I push everything into it. Hate, fear, nervousness. Everything. When they’re all consumed there’s an emptiness, a void, inside my head. I am in the middle of it, but I’m a part of whatever I am concentrating on, too.”

“That sounds familiar,” Elayne said. “I’ve heard Henre Haslin, the Master of the Swords in the Queen’s Guards, speak of a similar technique. He called it  _ ko’di _ —the Oneness.”

Rand nodded; a touch sadly, she thought. “Tam taught it to me first. And Lan uses it, too, with the sword. A good many people seem to know about it, whatever they call it. But I found out for myself that when I was inside the void, I could feel  _ saidin _ , like a light just beyond the corner of my eye in the emptiness. There’s nothing but me and that light. Emotion, even thought, is outside. I used to have to take it bit by bit, but it all comes at once, now. Most of it does, anyway. Most of the time.”

“Emptiness,” Elayne said with a shiver. “No emotion. That doesn’t sound very much like what we do. I imagine myself to be a flower, a rosebud, imagine it until I am the rosebud. That much is like your void, in a way. The rosebud’s petals open out to the light of  _ saidar _ , and I let it fill me, all light and warmth and life and wonder. I surrender to it, and by surrendering, I control it. That was the hardest part to learn, really; how to master  _ saidar _ by submitting, but it seems so natural now that I do not even think about it. Perhaps that is the key to it, Rand. If you learn to surrender—” He was shaking his head vigorously.

“That’s nothing like what I do,” he protested. “Let it fill me? I have to reach out and take hold of  _ saidin _ . Sometimes there’s still nothing there when I do, nothing I can touch, but if I didn’t reach for it I could stand there forever and nothing would happen. It fills me all right, once I take hold, but surrender to it?” He raked his fingers through his hair, which was a much darker shade of red than her own. “Elayne, if I surrendered—even for a minute— _ saidin _ would consume me. It’s like a river of molten metal, an ocean of fire, all the light of the sun gathered in one spot. I must fight it to make it do what I want, fight it to keep from being eaten up.”

He sighed. “I know what you mean about life filling you, though, even with the taint turning my stomach. Colours are sharper, smells clearer. Everything is more real, somehow. I don’t want to let go, once I have it, even while it’s trying to swallow me. But the rest ... Face the facts, Elayne. The Tower is right about this. Accept it for the truth, because it is.”

She shook her head. “I will accept it when it is proved to me.” She knew she did not sound as sure as she wanted to, not as sure she had been. What he told sounded like some twisted half-reflection of what she did, similarities only emphasizing differences. Yet there were similarities. She would not give up. “Can you tell the flows apart? Air, Water, Spirit, Earth, Fire?”

“Sometimes,” he said slowly. “Not usually. It mostly just looks like light, but sometimes the lights are tinted in different colours.” Elayne nodded; that much at least was familiar. “I just take what I need to do what I want. Fumble for it, mostly. It’s very strange. Sometimes I need to do a thing, and I do it, but only afterward do I know what it was I did, or how. It’s almost like remembering something I’ve forgotten. But I can remember how to do it again. Most of the time.”

“Yet you do remember how,” she insisted. “How did you shield me from the Source?”

Rand’s face took on a pained expression. “I don’t know.” He sounded embarrassed. “That was more complicated that most of the things I’ve done. When I want fire, for a lamp or a fireplace, I just make it, but I do not know how. I don’t really need to think to do things with fire. But that shield? That had lots of things mixed together.”

That stood to reason. Of the Five Powers, Fire and Earth had been strongest in men in the Age of Legends, and Air and Water in women; Spirit had been shared equally. Elayne didn’t have to exert herself much to use Air or Water, once she had learned to do a thing in the first place. But the thought did not further her purpose.

“Do you know how you extinguished the fire?” she pressed. “You seemed to think before it went out.”

“That I do remember, because I don’t believe I have ever done it before. I took in the heat from the lamp and spread it into the stone of the ground; a rock wouldn’t even notice that much heat.”

Elayne gasped, unconsciously cradling her left arm for a moment. She had done something similar once, while training in the Tower. Her arm had been a mass of blisters afterwards and Sheriam had threatened to let the blisters heal by themselves; she had not done it, but she had threatened. It was one of the warnings Novices were given; never draw heat in. A flame could be extinguished using Air or Water, but using Fire to pull the heat away meant disaster with a flame of any size. It was not a matter of strength, so Sheriam had said; heat once taken in could not be gotten rid of, not by the strongest woman ever to come out of the White Tower. Women had actually burst into flame themselves that way. Women had burst into flame. Elayne drew a ragged breath.

“What’s the matter?” Rand asked.

“I think you may have just proved the difference to me.” She sighed.

“Oh. Does that mean you’re ready to give up?”

“No. Perhaps the Aes Sedai are correct in this, but I refuse to give up. It is too important. There has to be a way, and we will find it. We will.”

“You tried,” he said simply. “I thank you for that. It is not your fault it didn’t work. I’ve been practicing myself lately. With mixed success.”

“I’ve noticed. Exploding trees are hard to miss,” she said dryly. “I understand the necessity though. Just ... try not to let it pull you too firmly. The One Power can be very ... alluring.”

He eyed her shrewdly. “It’s addictive is what it is. While staying in the  _ stedding _ I felt like a drunk that was being denied his ale. I don’t like that. At all.”

She took a deep breath. That was a somewhat less flattering description than she cared for, but she feared it was all too accurate. “I know. It troubles me as well. I’ve been trying to ration my use of  _ saidar _ , simply as a matter of principle. I mislike the idea that I  _ need _ to channel. It should be a thing I do when I wish, not when I must.”

Rand nodded grimly. “Would that it was so.” He grunted softly. “I would that a lot of things were so. But they aren’t, and we have to deal with the world the way it is.”

“We will find a way to make this work, Rand,” she said earnestly.

“Of course we will,” he said with a forced cheerfulness. “But not today.” He hesitated. “I suppose you’ll be going, then.”

“I’ve kept you long enough. Moiraine will likely wish to depart soon.”

“And refusing just on the principle of it would be ... childish,” he muttered.

Elayne smiled gently. “That it would.” She would have liked to have made peace between him and her aunt, but even if she and Moiraine were not as estranged as they were, she was not sure how she could settle matters between them. Both viewed themselves as the leader in the group and unless one was willing to submit to the other they would remain at odds.

The distracted air he wore throughout that day’s journey led her to believe he was still practicing his channelling, but thankfully no more trees were torched.

They stopped for the night near a large stream that afforded them the chance to water the horses and refill their waterskins. While the camp was going up, Elayne chanced to see her aunt leaving camp alone. It seemed like a good opportunity to discuss the problem between her and Rand, so she followed her and came upon a familiar sight.

Loial and Perrin were lying on their bellies, hands elbow-deep in the cold water, attempting to catch trout with their hands. She had seen such things done before during their journey. They would tickle the green-backed fish out from under the rock ledges where they hid. Loial’s fingers, big as they were, were even more deft at it than Perrin’s.

Surprisingly, Moiraine joined them, stretching herself out on the streamside and undoing rows of pearl buttons to roll up her sleeves as she asked how the thing was done. Perrin exchanged shocked looks with Loial. The Ogier shrugged.

“It is not that hard, really,” Perrin told her. “Just bring your hand up from behind the fish, and underneath, as if you’re trying to tickle its belly. Then you pull it out. It takes practice, though. You might not catch anything the first few times you try.”

“I tried for days before I ever caught anything,” Loial added. He was already easing his huge hands into the water, careful to keep his shadow from scaring the fish.

“As difficult as that?” Moiraine murmured. Her hands slipped into the water—and a moment later came out with a splash, holding a fat trout that thrashed the surface. She laughed with delight as she tossed it up onto the bank.

Perrin blinked at the big fish flopping in the fading sunlight. It must have weighed at least five pounds. “You were very lucky,” he said. “Trout that size don’t often shelter under a ledge this small. We’ll have to move upstream a bit. It will be dark before any of them settle under this ledge again.”

“Is that so?” Moiraine said. “You two go ahead. I think I will just try here again.”

Perrin hesitated a moment, and gave Moiraine a suspicious look, before moving up the bank to another overhang. He lay belly down, and careful not to let his shadow fall on the water, he peered over the edge and sighed.

Before Perrin could even slide his hands into the water, Moiraine gave a shout. “Three should be enough, I think. The last two are bigger than the first.”

Perrin gave Loial a startled look. “She can’t have!”

The Ogier straightened, sending the small trout scattering. “She is Aes Sedai,” he said simply. Elayne found herself smiling as she watched the scene. She would not have expected her coldly dignified aunt to know how to do something like that. But then, she had spent the past twenty years travelling the world. Who knew what adventures she had gotten into in that time, or what skills she had learned? The woman in question was already buttoning her sleeves up again.

For some reason Moiraine took a moment to stare down Perrin. There was no particular expression on her smooth face, but her dark eyes did not waver. Elayne was struck by a sudden uncertainty, and said nothing as her aunt glided past her on her way back to camp. Moiraine herself did no more than give her a single curious glance.

Muttering to himself, Perrin pulled out his beltknife and set to cleaning the catch. “All of a sudden she’s forgotten about sharing the chores, it seems. I suppose she’ll want us to do the cooking, as well, and the cleaning up after.”

“No doubt she will,” Loial said without pausing over the fish he was working on. “She is Aes Sedai.”

“I seem to remember hearing that somewhere.” Perrin’s knife ripped into the fish. “The Shienarans might be willing to run around fetching and carrying for her, but I’m not.”

Loial gave a great snort of laughter. “She may have to put up with Rand arguing with her all the time, but I doubt she’s willing to do the same for you. As a rule, Aes Sedai do not let anyone argue with them. I expect she means to have us back in the habit of doing what she says by the time we reach the next village.”

“A good habit to be in,” Lan said, throwing back his cloak. In the fading light he had appeared out of nowhere.

Perrin gave a start, and Loial’s ears went stiff with shock. Elayne hoped she had covered her own reaction better than they had.

“A habit you should never have lost,” Lan added, then strode off after Moiraine. His boots barely made a sound, even on that rocky ground, and once he was a few paces away the cloak hanging down his back gave him the uneasy appearance of a disembodied head and arms drifting up from the stream. Elayne hastened after him. She still wanted to speak to Moiraine.

Lan made a beeline for the tent Elayne shared with Min, leading Elayne to suspect Moiraine might wish to have a word with her as well. The Warder was content to hover outside but Elayne ducked in and found Moiraine and Min mid-conversation.

“... understanding of how it works. This uncertainty is unacceptable,” Moiraine was saying.

Min sat cross-legged on her blankets, with the nondescript bundle that hid the Horn of Valere cradled in her lap. She looked wary, and Moiraine stood over her. The Aes Sedai bullied Min much as she did everyone else, but somehow when it was Min on the receiving end it did not seem half so acceptable as when it was Perrin.

“It won’t work for you though,” Min said.

“Or for you it seems, at least not when we need it. Perhaps we can rectify this problem.” Moiraine held out her hands to Min expectantly. Min hesitated for a moment, but under Moiraine’s dark stare she handed the wrapped bundle over.

“What do you want with it?” Elayne asked.

Moiraine’s gaze was as lacking in familial warmth as she had come to expect. “There is much that Novices are not yet ready to know. Pay close attention in your studies and the day may soon come when you have your answer.”

“But not today,” Elayne said dryly. There was little to no point in pressing the woman for answers. Rand had made that plain with his own arguments. “Perhaps we might speak of another matter then. This conflict between you and Rand. I wonder if there might be a way to smooth it over.”

“Conflict?” Moiraine said coldly. “You think there is conflict between this boy and I, Novice?” She tucked the Horn of Valere firmly under her arm and looked at Elayne in such a way that it almost seemed that she was the taller of the two.

But Elayne was not as easily intimidated as Min. “Moiraine Sedai, with all due respect, there is not a man or woman in the camp who does not know of it. Not even the young maid, Saeri. Rand does not strike me as completely unreasonable. If you were to answer a few of his questions, perhaps not the most troublesome ones, but a few at least, he might not argue with you so often. One might hope it would lessen this unfortunate, and potentially dangerous, discord.”

Moiraine shook her head. “You are as unlearned in managing males as you are in other matters. Let them think they can get their way even once, and they will become convinced they can do so at all times. They are slow to learn, and even slower to unlearn. And that is as much and more of an explanation as I care to give. We are close to the border of Tar Valon now. You will soon be back in the White Tower. You would do well to recall that the sisters there will care even less for being questioned than I do, and adjust your attitude accordingly.”

She took her leave then, taking the Horn with her, and Elayne was left with another question. One perhaps not so important as the Horn of Valere or the Dragon Reborn in the grand scheme of things, but one of paramount importance to her. When the time came, would Min be coming with her to Tar Valon, or would she, and the Horn to which she was bound, stay with Rand?


	6. Parting

CHAPTER 3: Parting

The border between the Black Hills and Tar Valon was invisible to Rand. Moiraine claimed they had passed into territory loyal to the White Tower, but the countryside here looked much the same as that behind them: rocky, untilled and sparsely treed.

He hoped he had made plain enough to the Aes Sedai that he would not be going to Tar Valon. He was past tired of arguing about it. Though it begged the question of where he should go if not there. He needed to get his hands on  _ The Prophecies of the Dragon _ so he could start figuring out what he was supposed to do to fulfil his destiny, and only the bigger libraries seemed to keep a copy. Perhaps in Caemlyn? Queen Morgase was a good woman, but loyal to the White Tower. It would be risky to go there, though it would also give him the opportunity to return Red to Master Gill.

Uno chose their campsite that evening, checking with Rand before ordering his soldiers to make camp. It was a needless formality so far as Rand was concerned—Uno knew far more about choosing a fortifiable location that he did—but he’d gotten used to it by now.

He was glad to note that Elayne was helping out with the cooking again. The Daughter-Heir was surprisingly skilled at that. He’d miss her when she went, and not just for her cooking.

There were others he’d miss as well. As he waited for his armsmen and maids to finish setting up his tent, he watched Nynaeve watch Lan watch Moiraine. She didn’t seem to notice Rand’s gaze, no more than Lan seemed to notice her regard. That last impression Rand was willing to bet was deceptive, but what of Nynaeve?

His thoughts dwelled on her as the sun slipped below the horizon and activities in the camp lessened. He was still thinking of her and all she meant to him while he sat alone, staring up at the stars. The sentries all had their attention turned outwards, and Nynaeve slept alone in her tent. Did he dare? She’d probably thump him if he did.

Rising, in more ways than one, Rand left the fireside and moved silently through the moonlit camp. He hesitated outside Nynaeve’s low tent, but gathered his courage and ducked inside. If she got mad at him, so be it. She’d been mad at him many times in the past. But there had been a few other occasions when she hadn’t been, and those had been sweet occasions indeed.

Crouching in the entrance to the tent, he cleared his throat softly. “Nynaeve. Are you awake?”

He couldn’t see her in the dark, but he heard a surprised snort and the rustle of cloth, as of a woman sitting up in bed. “Rand? What are ...? I knew it! I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist coming here and trying to have your way with me. That’s disgracefully lewd, as your mother would have made plain to you if she had lived.” Her voice was an outraged hiss, but she kept it so low that only he could hear. Rand cocked his head consideringly. Nynaeve was not always completely honest with herself. Was her outrage real or not? He’d leave if the former, but if it was the latter ...

“You took your time about it though, I suppose I can give you that much credit,” she continued in a mutter, and he wondered if he was imagining the disappointment in her voice.

He crawled closer, and sat near her on the bed. “Having you so near and not being able to touch you is harder than you know.”

“I ...”

“You’re leaving tomorrow, and I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again. I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t try this.”

“T-try what?” she asked breathlessly.

He moved slowly in the dark, guessing based on familiarity with her, but his aim was true and his hand found the back of her head. Her hair was loose for sleep, and for all her protests Nynaeve did not resist as he guided her mouth to his.

Her lips were sweet as honey and did not try to sting him for once. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and kissed her hungrily. As he pressed her to his chest, he became aware that her hands were clenched in fists at the front of her nightshift. Sweeter even than her allowing him to kiss her was the moment when her fists unclenched and Nynaeve’s arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him to her.

Rand wanted to make the moment last but, once awoken, the passion Nynaeve claimed not to feel was a fierce thing. She attacked the buttons on his coat with her skilful fingers, seemingly unhindered by the darkness, and no sooner had she pushed the coat back off him than she pulled his shirt over his head and began running her hands over his flesh.

Matching her, Rand tugged her nightdress up and boldly found a breast to squeeze, winning a low moan from Nynaeve. She used his lips to muffle the sound.

“We really shouldn’t keep doing this,” she mumbled weakly.

In response, Rand slipped a hand down the front of her underwear and stroked a finger slowly along her slit, her very wet slit. She pressed her mouth to him again, desperately this time.

“We should’ve started long ago, and never stopped,” he retorted softly, regretfully. He pulled her underwear down over her hips, and for all the soft denials she murmured she didn’t stop him.

It fell to Rand to free himself from his, by now, too-tight breeches. As hungry as her kisses had grown, Nynaeve refused to reach so low. She did let out an approving whimper when she heard his belt buckle being undone thought. Rand smiled in the darkness.

He wanted more honesty like that from her, so he took hold of her slender hips and lifted her into his lap.

“What are you?”

He answered her by pulling her down onto his hard cock, impaling her on its length. Her hot wetness quenched his thirst and he let out a long, satisfied sigh.

“New position, Nynaeve,” he murmured. “It’s just like riding a horse. I’ve thought about it a lot, whenever I watch your hips move in the saddle.”

He couldn’t see anything, but he could well imagine her hot blush. “Pervert,” she declared.

He chuckled. “I can’t help it, when there’s a beauty like you right in front of me.”

Rand started it, forcibly moving Nynaeve’s hips against his, but soon she took over, rocking against him, stroking her pussy along his cock. It wasn’t long before she was bouncing energetically in his lap, sharp little gasps escaping her lips as she rode him fiercely.

He released his grip on her hips, the better to clutch at the silky-soft flesh of her breasts and buttocks. Her own hands roved over his chest and belly as she lost herself in her forbidden passions.

He had no idea how long she rode him like that, but her flesh was slick with sweat by the time her wild bouncing came to a sudden stop. Rand would have known the reason even if she hadn’t wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face to his neck to muffle her cries. He savoured the feel of her pussy fluttering around him.

“That’s my sweet Nynaeve,” he breathed.

The motion of her hips ceased as Nynaeve lay trembling in his arms, but Rand’s own release was too close to stop now. While she lay gasping for breath atop him, Rand braced his feet and thrust upwards, frantically rubbing his cock inside her. Soon he felt his orgasm surge through him, and clutched her bottom in his hands as he emptied himself into Nynaeve’s womb.

They lay together for some time, catching their breaths. Nynaeve rested her cheek against Rand’s chest, just above his heart, and he ran his hands slowly up and down her smooth back. It felt so nice and warm that Rand would happily have let sleep claim him, but Nynaeve poked him in his unwounded side with her finger.

“Don’t be a woolhead, Rand. You can’t sleep here; you have to go back to your own tent.”

“If that’s what you want,” he sighed. “Just ... just a little longer. Please. I’m going to miss you when you go, and I’d like to savour this.”

With a sigh of her own, Nynaeve snuggled against him. “I’ll miss you, too,” she mumbled. “But this isn’t goodbye. We’ll meet again, so long as you don’t do anything stupid. You’d better not, Rand al’Thor. If you get yourself killed and force me to come save you I’ll thump you so hard your ears will never stop ringing.”

“You’d try too, wouldn’t you?” Rand said with a soft laugh. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, savouring the moment, knowing it would be over all too soon.

* * *

The sun had set hours ago, but their lamp still burned bright. They had much to discuss, and Elayne tried to focus on it, but the way Min was leaning back with her weight resting on her palms pressed her breasts against her loose white shirt in a most distracting manner. She herself sat on the pallet facing her pillow-friend, clad in a high-necked Andoran dress of red and white, and endeavoured to be sensible even as her bottom lip threatened to quiver embarrassingly.

“I want to go with you,” Min said earnestly, “but what about the Horn? What if Rand needs me? Or it, I mean.”

She was entirely right. Elayne knew it and tired to make her voice reflect that. “You should stay with him. I would like to stay, too, but my training ...” Her cheeks coloured and she suddenly found herself unable to meet Min’s eyes. She hoped that hadn’t sounded as squeaky to her as it did to Elayne.

Min sat forward and quickly pulled Elayne into an embrace. “Shush. It’ll be all right love. We’ll see each other again. I’ve seen it.”

“How long though,” she mumbled as she hugged her back, “the Tower’s training takes years. I don’t want to go years without you. I don’t even want to go days.”

“Me neither. But it can’t take that long, can it? Not with everything that’s happened. I’m not sure we even have years ...” That just made Elayne hug her harder.

Tarmon Gai’don was coming soon. Elayne had no intention of spending it in a classroom, not even if the Amyrlin Seat commanded her to. And she couldn’t imagine such a struggle would be without casualties. She was prepared to be one of them but if Min were to fall ... or Rand. She was glad Min couldn’t see her face then, for her lips grew all too tremulous at the thought of losing them. Worse, Rand’s death was a part of the Prophecies.

“Time is against us all,” she agreed wholeheartedly.

“At least you’ll have friends in Tar Valon,” said Min. “Dani and Ilyena are still there. And Gawyn’s probably missing you.”

She hoped that reunion would be more pleasant than her recent encounter with Galadedrid. “And I’m sure you won’t be lonely here either.” Anna had been rather more impressed with Galad than a sensible woman should be, but she and Min got along well. There was that for her. Loial and Rand would look after her as well.

She could feel Min’s heart beating fast against her chest. “I-I’ll probably make more friends. Eventually for sure. But ... but that doesn’t mean I’ll ever stop loving you. You understand that, right?”

“Of course I do silly. I love you, too. And I always will.”

“Will you?” Min breathed. “I hope so. Just know that no matter how close you grow to—to anyone, it won’t change what’s between us. Not for me. And I pray it won’t for you either.”

Elayne’s own heart sped up. She was talking about the girls back in Tar Valon, but she wondered what she would think if she knew how Elayne had come to feel about Rand. It was unfair and disloyal, but a Queen had to have an heir. Or so she justified it to herself.

“I hope you mean that,” she whispered, “I hope you can be happy with whatever comes. Your happiness is precious to me, however it comes.”

Min laughed softly. “That’s nice. Especially considering you’re so good at causing it.” Her hands slid along the curve of Elayne’s back and came to rest on her bottom. She gave her a light squeeze through the fabric of her dress and Elayne smiled, her nervousness—somewhat surprisingly—immediately forgotten.

She leaned back to get a look at her lover’s face and found Min smiling, her dark eyes alight with warmth and affection. Elayne pressed their lips together and melted into her embrace.

It wasn’t long before her own hands found their way to Min’s bottom. And it wasn’t long after that that they started tugging at each other’s clothes. Elayne bore Min backwards onto the bed and fumbled with her belt even as Min was unbuttoning her dress. They kept kissing as legs and breasts were exposed and only stopped when Elayne slid her fingers into Min’s by then wet pussy.

Min moaned and spread her legs wider. She lay there, her breeches and smallclothes gone and the front of her shirt undone; exposed, visibly aroused and ready to be claimed. Elayne was eager to claim her. She treated herself to one more deep kiss before sitting back and finger-fucking Min in earnest.

The frantic motion set Elayne’s breasts to jiggling and Min’s hazy gaze was drawn to the sight. Elayne was glad of the appreciation and began teasing Min’s nub too.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” Min groaned.

“You’d better!” Elayne said snippily.

She wasn’t sure how long it took before Min arched her back and repeated, “So much!” but the sight of her oldest friend and lover in the throes of orgasm was more than enough to make her forget the slight tiredness of her arm. She lay down beside her and watched Min’s breathing steady, waiting patiently despite her arousal.

Min stretched luxuriously, her stiff nipples reaching for the sky as though in surrender, and rolled over to face her. A touch on the cheek was all it took to have Elayne scooting eagerly over into her embrace. She still found that a little embarrassing, even after all these months and the many trysts they’d had. She didn’t care for that impulse. She wanted to be abandoned with Min. But her Andoran sensibilities were a little hard to shake off. Not hard enough to prevent her from turning in Min’s arms and pressing back against her smooth warmth though. Not near so hard as that.

Familiar hands roamed her flesh, caressing her throat, bared and trusting, moving down to squeeze her breasts and tease the stiff nipples that crowned them. Slowly, too slowly, they drifted down towards Elayne’s private heat. It was all she could do not to beg, and from the low laughter Min let out she knew it too, burn her. When at last Min’s skilled fingers probed her loins, Elayne gasped in relief.

“What’s this? My Princess is all soaked. How could that be?” Min said with mock confusion.

“Oh, you do not get to tease me for that, Miss Farshaw. Not after all that I’ve seen of you.”

Min only laughed louder. “Guilty as charged. And yet not guilty at all.”

Despite her protestations, Elayne found it easy to give herself over into Min’s care. The other woman kept one hand lodged firmly in Elayne’s crotch as her free hand gently explored the rest of her. She kissed the sides of her neck as she lovingly stirred her passions.

So skilful was Min’s touch that she soon found herself squirming against her, rubbing the other woman’s silky skin against her own in the process. She edged closer and closer to that glorious release and was barely able to maintain enough presence of mind to keep her voice down. Their tent was not nearly far enough away from the others in the camp to do otherwise. So when her pleasure burst over her Elayne snatched up a pillow and pressed it to her mouth to muffle her scream as she ground her hips mindlessly against Min’s hand.

“That’s what I like to see,” Min murmured. “You look so beautiful when you do that. I mean, you always look beautiful, but especially then.”

Despite it all, Elayne blushed. “T-thank you. But I’m sure I can’t look half so beautiful as you.”

Min pulled the blankets up over them and cuddled against her. “Flatterer. But I’ll not complain of it. Get the light would you?”

She wasn’t sure she could muster the concentration needed to embrace  _ saidar _ just yet. Perhaps that too was something she could learn in the White Tower. “I wish you were coming with me,” she said glumly. “I understand why you have to stay, I respect it. But still. It won’t be the same without you.”

“I’ll miss you too, sweetie. But this won’t be the last time we see each other,” Min said. “I hope when we do we can lie like this again.”

“I hope so too. I suppose only time will tell, but I like to think there’s nothing—and no-one—that could come between us.”

As she fell asleep in Min’s arms that night, Elayne sent up a silent prayer that it would be so.

* * *

Rand was alone in his tent when he woke that morning. He washed and dressed with haste, not wanting to miss seeing them before they left, but his haste proved unnecessary. Nynaeve, Elayne and Min were all slower to rise than normal for some reason.

Moiraine and Verin were up though. He saw them off by themselves as he made his way towards the breakfast cookfire but didn’t try to speak to them. The Warders standing between them and the rest of the camp were a plain message that they didn’t want company.

He wasn’t the first of his friends to rise either. Anna was waiting at the cookfire for Han and Izana to finish preparing the meal. Her hair was neatly combed, her plain clothes were freshly brushed, and she greeted Rand warmly.

“You’re up early,” he said.

“Didn’t want to miss Nynaeve and Min,” she said gruffly. “I imagine they’ll want to get an early start. They’re going to be travelling without an escort now. Best to move quickly.”

Rand nodded, though he couldn’t help but notice Elayne’s name not being included, and that saddened him a little.

They waited together, and ate in comfortable silence once Izana served them their stew. Silences were always comfortable with Anna, Rand found. There was rarely a need to explain himself or to make conversation just to be polite. It was one of the many things he’d always liked about her.

It was Nynaeve who emerged first, dressed to travel and with her hair and clothes neatly arranged. Very neatly in fact. She marched through the camp with a raised chin, as though daring anyone to speak to her, or comment on anything they might have noticed. She looked very much the Wisdom in that moment and Rand had the brief, perverse impulse to hint at things he shouldn’t hint at, but he quashed that impulse firmly. You could joke with someone like Min about such things, but not with Nynaeve.

She gave the other Thereners a stern nod when she joined them, paying Rand no more attention than she did Anna.

“So you’re leaving us,” Anna said glumly. “I’d gotten used to having you around again.”

Nynaeve tugged her braid. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned since Falme it’s that I’m not as equipped to solve as many problems as I should be. I still have things to learn. And don’t tell anyone else I said that.”

Anna grinned. “I won’t. And I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too,” Nynaeve sighed. “Come here.”

Anna did, and they hugged. It looked a little awkward to Rand’s eyes, for neither woman was exactly what you’d call a hugger, but it was all the more charming for that.

He sighed with mock sadness. “Why do I never get hugs like that?”

“Cause you’re an idiot al’Thor, and you don’t wash often enough,” Anna grouched, wining a rare laugh from Nynaeve, one that was almost enough to hide the colour in her cheeks. He kept his expression carefully blank.

“That’s something that can be said of far too many men,” Nynaeve sniffed. Her gaze was drawn to Lan, who still stood sentry in the distance. He didn’t look her way, he rarely did, but Rand suspected he was fully aware of her scrutiny. With another sniff, Nynaeve turned her back on him. “Where’s Perrin?”

“I don’t think he slept much,” said Anna. She didn’t glance at the two Shienarans but Rand knew she was very conscious of their proximity. “The, ah, the eye thing, you understand.”

Nynaeve shook her head. “Still? That boy is such a navel-gazer. I’d better go speak to him while I can.” She made short work of her breakfast and then departed, presumably to do as she’d said.

It wasn’t long afterwards that Elayne and Min emerged from their tent. Elayne was as carefully composed as Nynaeve, but Min stumped along beside her with her hair tousled from sleep, yawning openly. The contrast changed nothing for Rand. They both looked beautiful. And they both looked uncharacteristically wary when they joined him by the fire.

“Off to Tar Valon then,” he said. “It’s for the best, I don’t doubt, but I’ll still be sorry to see the two of you go.”

“I’m glad of that, Rand,” Elayne said with a small, sad smile. “Though you are partially mistaken.”

“Oh?”

Min put a hand on her hip and took a keen interest in the surrounding hills, looking very unconcerned. “I’ll be sticking around to torment you a little longer, sheepherder. On account of the Horn you understand.”

Rand couldn’t stop the smile that broke out, though he suppressed it quickly. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I’d miss your company, don’t get me wrong, but you’d be a lot safer if you went with Elayne.”

She muttered something he couldn’t hear, before raising her voice. “I’ve already made up my mind. Don’t bother trying to change it.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Anna. “Good company and a weapon that can give the Forsaken pause.”

“See. She knows,” Min grouched.

He sighed. “There was something I wanted to talk to you about before you went, Elayne.”

Her brows rose and he suddenly had her undivided attention. “Oh? It is all too possible that we may not see each other for some time, Rand. If there is something you need to confess this would seem the time to do so.”

Anna snorted softly, and a wry smile curved Min’s lips.

“That was my thought as well,” he said solemnly. The way Elayne’s eyes widened made her seem younger. “I put this off too long, if I’m honest, but with the circumstances being what they are ...”

“I understand,” she said breathlessly. “These are strange and troubled times but I believe we can overcome all the difficulties offered us.”

“You have more faith than I do then,” he muttered. “But that’s no excuse for shirking our duties, now is it? There was one I thought you could help me with.”

“A ... duty?”

“The horse. Red. He’s not actually mine, you see. I borrowed him from a Master Gill, the owner of The Queen’s Blessing. It’s an inn in Caemlyn. This was nearly a year ago now and I really should have returned him long ago, but I’ve never had the chance to go back that way and may never now that ... Well. I was thinking you could take him with you and have him returned to Master Gill the next time you go home.”

Elayne’s face was carefully blank and her eyes were no longer wide. They’d gotten kind of narrow in fact. She almost looked angry. “A horse,” she said flatly.

Min let out a long sigh and rediscovered her interest in the hills, slowly shaking her head over something. Anna was looking notably disinterested too, though she wore a small, private smile.

“If you don’t mind,” Rand added.

“That is very conscientious of you, my Lord Dragon. I should be glad to assist.” Elayne said stiffly. “Now if you will excuse me, I must finish my preparations.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and stalked away.

Min shook her head at him. “This is what you get with farmboys,” she muttered, before hastening after Elayne.

Rand watched them go with the sneaking suspicion that he was missing something.


	7. Empty Spaces

CHAPTER 4: Empty Spaces

They skirted the outer limits of Tar Valon’s territory, avoiding villages as best they could. That didn’t prove easy. Rand had come to suspect that all nations exaggerated the true extent of their borders, like Andor did, but as they rode south he saw the White Flame flying on a great many towns and villages. Perhaps Ingtar had been wrong when he claimed that all the nations were dying, or perhaps Tar Valon drew settlers to it in ways other nations didn’t. Certainly the people they passed looked a very diverse bunch. From what he could see from a distance at least.

He kept up his practice with the One Power, and told himself he was getting better with it. It almost always came when he called now, though what he could do with it was still limited. He tried to focus his efforts on small things. After all, using  _ saidin _ to set fire to trees in Tar Valon lands would have been foolish to say the least.

Min usually rode with him now. She tried to be cheerful but he could tell she was worried.

“If there’s one good thing about all these villages we’re avoiding it’s that we can know Elayne and Nynaeve are safe,” he said, several days after they parted company. “Bandits aren’t likely in such a densely populated area. And Darkfriends wouldn’t dare show themselves.”

“Are you sure about that? Because the Black Ajah dared show itself, and if Aes Sedai can openly be Darkfriends than who’s to say Tar Valoni can’t?”

“Good point,” he sighed. Maybe he should have sent some of the Shienarans with them. Hurin had said they should report all that had happened at Falme to Lord Agelmar and Queen Kensin, and hinted that he would like to see his family again.  _ I should have sent him and a few others _ .

“But Elayne and Nynaeve can take care of themselves,” Min said, with forced cheeriness. “And Verin’s with them. They’ll be fine. And you’ll be fine so long as I’m here to protect you. Don’t worry, if any of the Forsaken attack just you come hide behind me and the Horn.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” he said sourly, recalling too well how badly he had failed against Asha’bellanar. He should have protected her. He should have protected all of them, but especially her. His eye was drawn to Min’s saddle, from which the wrapped bundle that usually contained the Horn of Valere did not hang.

She followed his gaze and thoughts. “Moiraine has it. She wanted to study it, to try and make sure it would work when it’s needed.”

“Min. About what happened with Asha’bellanar. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. She hurt you and I should have stopped it. I could have stopped it, but the things she demanded ...”

Her sudden interest in her horse’s mane kept her big, dark eyes away from his and hid the accusation that his imagination placed in them. “I think, as a general rule, you should never give the Forsaken what they want. Even if it was Morrigan. I don’t blame you. I blame that old witch. Whatever she did, it ...  _ hurt _ .”

He put a hand on her shoulder. It was a weak gesture, but it was all the comfort he had to offer.

The Luan was their destination. That river was a tributary of the Erinin and would speed them out of Tar Valon and into Andor, presuming they could find a boat large enough to carry so many men and horses. And from there? Rand still wasn’t sure but he was growing inclined towards Shienar. Perhaps he would take Hurin’s advice and report back to Lord Agelmar. He could probably find a copy of  _ The Karaethon Cycle _ in Fal Dara, too.

Rand’s dreams were blessedly free of Forsaken on the night’s that followed but no less troubled for that. He kept finding himself back in that place, that dreamworld, no matter how much he tried to avoid it. Like channelling  _ saidin _ , it was something that just seemed to happen to him. He saw many strange things in his dreams. Sometimes those dreams concerned his friends, though for the life of him he could not make sense of the images.

He dreamed of Perrin with a wolf, and with a falcon, and a hawk—and the falcon and the hawk fighting—of Perrin running from someone deadly, and Perrin stepping willingly over the edge of a towering cliff while saying, “It must be done. I must learn to fly before I reach the bottom.” There had been one dream of an Aiel, and he thought that had to do with Perrin, too, somehow.

Mat was in his dreams as well, with dice spinning ‘round his head, being followed by a man who was not there. Later he saw Mat riding desperately toward something unseen in the distance that he had to reach, and Mat with a woman who seemed to be tossing fireworks about. An Illuminator, he assumed, but that made no more sense than anything else.

He saw Nynaeve as well. One night he saw her and Elayne standing back to back with white flames in their hands, surrounded by suspicious looking strangers. On another night, she was drowning in dark waters and no matter how desperately he tried to reach her he could not seem to move from his hated vantage. He could only pray that someone got to her before it was too late. It was that image that woke him.

Rand sat up out of his exhausted sleep, gasping, his blanket falling away. They hadn’t bothered with tents, for the weather was pleasant enough to do without, and anything that hastened their passage through the Aes Sedai’s lands was welcome to him. Saeri and Luci slept on nearby but several of the Shienarans, Hurin among them, came awake at Rand’s sudden movement.

“Just a dream,” he muttered as he clambered shirtless from his blankets. Perhaps it had been too much to hope for a decent night’s sleep on Winternight. That day was forever cursed for Rand now.

His side ached, the old wound from Falme throbbing, though a cursory check revealed it hadn’t broken open at least. The fire had burned down to coals with only a few wavering flames, but it was still enough to make the shadows move.  _ These damned dreams. What do they mean? And why do they keep happening to me even when the Forsaken are nowhere to be seen? _

Shivering, he picked up a length of oak branch and started to shove it into the coals. The trees were scattered in these hills, close to the Luan, but they had found enough fallen branches for a fire, the wood just old enough to be properly cured but not rotten. Before the wood touched the coals, he stopped. Birdcalls sounded from the trees, and not long after he understood why. There were horses coming, ten or a dozen of them, walking slowly.  _ I have to be careful. I cannot make any more mistakes _ . The Dragon Banner was safely hidden, as he’d ordered it to be since Tarcain Cut, but a group like theirs would still provoke questions.

The horses swung toward the failing fire, entered the dim light, and stopped. The shadows obscured their riders, but most seemed to be rough-faced men wearing round helmets and long leather jerkins sewn all over with metal discs like fish scales. One was a woman with greying hair and a no-nonsense look on her face. Her dark dress was plain wool, but the finest weave, and adorned with a silver pin in the shape of a lion. A merchant, she seemed to him; he had seen her sort among those who came to buy tabac and wool in the Theren. A merchant and her guards.

_ I have to be careful _ , he thought as he stood.  _ No mistakes _ . His armsmen, armoured sentries and barely-clad men only just roused from sleep both, placed themselves between him and the newcomers.

“You have chosen a good campsite, young man,” the woman said, singling him out based on how his men moved to protect him. “I have often used it on my way to Remen. There is a small spring nearby. I trust you have no objection to my sharing it?” Her guards were already dismounting, hitching at their sword belts and loosening saddle girths.

“None,” Rand told her.

Moiraine had sat up in her bed and was studying the merchant party, her face serene and expressionless despite her sleep-tousled hair. Loial and Min slept on but Perrin and Anna had stirred and were watching warily.

Hurin rubbed at his nose, and a deep frown added to the furrows on his face. The Shienaran thief-catcher could quite literally smell a murderer. Rand watched him as carefully as he did the newcomers, his hand twitching towards a sword he wasn’t wearing.

“There’s no-one there,” Hurin muttered, “so where is it coming from?”

Lan appeared at his side as though from nowhere, his shifting cloak tossed back from his swordhilt. “Where?”

Hurin pointed at nothing. “There. I smell violence, but I don’t see anyone.”

Uno cursed and there was a reaching for weapons throughout the camp, but Lan moved quickest. His blade slashed through empty air, and the air screamed in pain.

The blood that sprayed from the nondescript man’s chest was as red as anyone else’s, but even as he watched him die Rand’s eyes refused to focus on him. He felt his jaw drop open.

“Grey Man,” said Geko coldly and his Shienarans turned on the newcomers in anger.

The merchant’s guards yelled and clawed for their swords, though they didn’t seem surprised at the nearly invisible man in their midst. That was all Rand needed to know.

Two steps brought him close enough to one of the still-mounted men, and he leaped into the air, spinning—Thistledown Floats on the Whirlwind—heron-mark blade carved from fire coming into his hands to take the man’s head off before he could clear his scabbard.

He alighted as the man’s head rolled from the crupper of his horse. A second man made a move for Rand only to fall back screaming as he realized his blade burned.

Lan and the Shienarans were among them then, dancing the deadly forms. Rand joined them, and knew he could have killed all ten with ordinary steel, but the blade he wielded was part of him. Between them all, it was over quickly. The last man fell to Rand’s blade, and it had been so like practicing the forms that he had already begun the sheathing called Folding the Fan before he remembered he wore no scabbard and this blade would have turned it to ash at a touch if he had.

The nameless woman sat her horse alone, wide-eyed and pale-faced. He wondered what to do with her. She was probably a Darkfriend, too, but she was female and that meant he couldn’t hurt her. But if not that, then what?

His dilemma was short-lived. The arrow struck her chest with such force that it carried her over her horse’s rump to land somewhere in the darkness beyond. Dead he knew. Little survived being hit with an arrow from a Theren longbow at that range. Anna lowered her bow, looking grim, though not nearly as grim as Perrin. The fight had ended before he could join it, but his hands worked along the handle of his axe and he looked as troubled as though it had been him to do the killing.

The others had been woken by the shouting and were gasping questions. Rand had some questions of his own, and left it to Uno to explain.

Letting the sword vanish, he turned to examine the man he hadn’t seen. He looked perfectly normal, not like Shadowspawn at all. His clothes were plain, too. No armour, but a multitude of knives were sheathed about his person and a wicked looking crossbow was encased on his back.

“The Soulless,” Lan said grimly. He came and stood and Rand’s side, looking down at the corpse. “Darkfriends once, before the Shadow made them something more. Something less.”

“I didn’t feel him. Usually I can tell if there’s Shadowspawn nearby, but not with this one.”

“Nor I. Grey Men cannot be detected in such a way—perhaps because they are still more human than Shadowspawn.”

“Then if not for Hurin ...” Rand said.

“Yes. You should keep him close,” said Lan.

The Power still filled him, the flow from  _ saidin _ sweeter than honey, ranker than rotted meat, and useless in this case. Letting go of  _ saidin _ was hard, but he did it.  _ If I hold it too much, how will I keep the madness away? _ He laughed bitterly.  _ Or is it too late for that? _

Most of the merchant’s horses had run away, but some not far. “We could sell the horses I suppose. They might raise enough to pay for our passage.”

“And if they are recognised?” said Moiraine. “The woman claimed to know these parts well, and it is likely she would have been known in turn. No. We will dispose of the bodies and set the horses loose.”

Rand nodded reluctantly. She was right, and at least she wasn’t trying to convince him to go to the White Tower any more.

Their departure was delayed doing just that but they made good enough time to make up for it, following the banks of the Luan. Moiraine claimed there was a large town not far ahead and that they could find a boat there. Rand hoped she was right about that, too.

His positive inclination towards her didn’t last out the day. They were still setting up camp for the evening when he happened upon her and Min arguing. Well, more like imploring on Min’s part. “But what if it was one of the Forsaken?” she was saying. “I should have it close in case they find us.”

“No. That arrangement has proven unreliable. The Tower will decide how best to deploy the Horn. You will be told when it is time to sound it, and until that time it will be kept secure.”

Rand shook his head. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Moiraine and the Aes Sedai seemed to want to have control over everything and everyone. Of course she would want the Horn in her pocket.

Frustration tightened Min’s voice, but she still kept it low and respectful. “But the time I spend looking for you to ask you to give it to me could be the difference between life and death. What if they get to Rand while I’m standing there whistling?”

“You misunderstand me, Min,” the Aes Sedai said calmly. “The Horn will be kept secure until it is needed most. In the White Tower where it belongs.”

Min blinked slowly. “What?”

Rand’s mind raced. He marched up to the two women. “What do you mean, ‘in the White Tower’, Moiraine? Where is the Horn? Don’t tell me you sent it off with Verin.”

“I sent it off with Verin,” she said calmly as she arched her brows at him.

“Blood and ashes!” Rand swore. “What were you thinking? We need the Horn with us! What else can stop the Forsaken? Not you and not me, Asha’bellanar made that plain enough!”

“Mind your tongue, sheepherder,” said Lan, hovering nearby.

Moiraine was unruffled. “Mistakes were made in that conflict. It would not go the same way if she attacked again.”

“But without me it won’t work,” Min said, sounding shocked.

“It hardly works with you,” Moiraine responded, and Min blanched.

“That’s unfair,” he growled. “Your precious Aes Sedai didn’t know it needed to rest between uses. Burn me, even the things they thought they knew were wrong. Don’t think I’ve forgotten the Amyrlin claiming the Heroes would follow a Darkfriend if he sounded it.”

A crowd was gathering. Rand arguing with Moiraine was hardly a fresh occurrence, but open talk of the Horn of Valere was rare even here among people who knew the truth about Falme.

“The matter has been settled,” Moiraine proclaimed. “I see little point in discussing it further. I believe I shall retire early tonight and get an early start tomorrow. If we make good time we should reach Remen before sunset.”

“Five days,” Rand growled. How far could Verin have gone in five days? Ten once they’d gotten back to where he’d last seen her, and however long it took to pick up her trail after that, assuming Inukai and the others could. Lan certainly wouldn’t help. Could he catch up to her and take the Horn back? He doubted it, and was left seething in frustration.

“She will be deep into Tar Valon territory by now,” Moiraine said, not bothering to look back. Rand could do nothing but glare at her retreating form. He was still glaring long after she had ducked into her tent and Lan had taken up a sentry position outside it.

“So much for being useful,” Min said dejectedly.

“You don’t need to be,” he growled distractedly. “You bring value to the world just by existing in it.”  _ Bloody Moiraine! What possible good would the Horn do gathering dust in the White Tower? But better to be useless in Aes Sedai hands than useful in anyone else’s, right? Burn them! _

“Oh,” Min said, in a small voice.

Rand scarcely heard. He stalked off, and whatever expression he wore sent the gathered crowd scattering before him.

* * *

Perrin tried to avoid the conflict. It was his habit and, sadly, it rarely worked. It didn’t work this time either for it wasn’t long after Rand’s argument with Moiraine that the ground beneath his feet began trembling in anger. Once that would have shocked him, but this time he was immediately certain that it was Rand’s anger that was to blame.

He fell to the ground along with everyone else, shaking his head in annoyance, a little surprised at how unafraid he felt. He wasn’t blind to the danger—there was a very real possibility that this would be the moment that Rand finally lost his mind and killed them all—but the fear that should have dried his mouth did not come.

“Is it the Forsaken again?” Saeri squeaked, clinging to Luci.

“No, just Rand,” Perrin said.

“Oh. Well, that’s okay then. I guess.”

He shook his head again. That girl was nearly as bad as the Shienarans where Rand was concerned. They’d all probably let him cut their throats if he wanted to.

He waited for the quake to run its course before clambering to his feet and dusting himself off. With a muttered oath, he set off in search of Rand.

He found Min first but that suited his purpose. Ever since Elayne left, she was rarely far from Rand’s side. She was rubbing the seat of her trousers surreptitiously but gave over when she saw him coming. Perrin sighed and his steps slowed. She was squinting at him the way she did when she saw things. “Where’s Rand?” he asked her.

“Out there in the dark,” she said, nodding upslope without taking her eyes off him. “He will not talk to anyone. He just sits there, snapping at anyone who comes near him.”

“He will talk to me,” Perrin said. She followed him and he avoided her eyes as best he could, feeling rude.  _ Light, what does she see when she looks at me? I don’t want to know _ .

Rand was seated on the ground just beyond the trees, with his back against the trunk of a stunted oak. Staring at nothing, he had his arms wrapped around himself, hands under his red coat, as if feeling the cold. He did not appear to notice their approach. Min sat down beside him, but he did not move even when she laid a hand on his arm.

“What happened, Rand?” he asked.

He didn’t respond at first, but then he sighed and hung his head. “I’m sorry. I thought I had it under control but ... My temper set it off. I didn’t even realise I was holding the Power. I’ll do better. I have to do better.”

Min put on a bright smile that Rand didn’t have the decency to notice. “It’s alright, sheepherder, no-one was hurt. What’s a little shaking after all we’ve seen?”

“It’s never enough,” he muttered. “Too many mistakes. Too many failures, when I can’t afford even one.”

Min gave Perrin a stricken look, as though he would know how to respond to that. He sighed. “There was no harm done, Rand. A few bruises, that’s all.” Rand didn’t respond. “Come back to camp.”

“I’ll slink back in later,” he said bitterly. “I just want to stay here for a while.” Min petted his arm comfortingly but Rand ignored her gesture as surely as he did Perrin’s words. Perrin could think of nothing to do except leave him there and wait for him to come to his senses.

Loial met him on his way back. “Is Rand well?”

“About his usual,” Perrin said. An unfortunate truth that, but a truth nonetheless.

The Ogier’s ears twitched, and he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I’m not sure that there’s anything I can do to help with that unfortunately.”

Perrin grunted.

“He’ll be fine,” Min said firmly. “I’ll see to it.”

Perrin and Loial exchanged dubious looks. “I hope so,” the Ogier said at last.

“Loial,” Min said, “I need to speak to Perrin. Alone. Would you mind?”

“Oh. Of course not.” He walked away, his lengthy stride quickly carrying him out of earshot, pulling his pipe and tabac pouch from a coat pocket as he went.

Perrin eyed her warily. She was biting her lip, as if considering what to say. “Do you ever see things about him?” he asked, nodding after the Ogier.

She shook her head. “I think it only works with humans. But I’ve seen things around you that you ought to know about.”

“I’ve told you—”

“Don’t be more thickheaded than you have to be, Perrin. Back there, right after the quake. They were not there before. They must have to do with this journey.”

After a moment he said reluctantly, “What did you see?”

“An Aielman in a cage,” she said promptly. “A  _ Tuatha’an _ with a sword. A falcon and a hawk, perching on your shoulders. Both female, I think. And all the rest, of course. What is always there. Darkness swirling ’round you, and—”

“None of that!” he said quickly. When he was sure she had stopped, he scratched his head, thinking. None of it made any sense to him. “Do you have any idea what it all means? The new things I mean.”

“No, but they’re important. The things I see always are. Turning points in people’s lives, or what’s fated. It’s always important.” She hesitated for a moment, glancing at him. “One more thing,” she said slowly. “If you meet a woman—a beautiful, green-eyed woman—run!”

Perrin blinked. “You saw a beautiful woman? Why should I run from a beautiful woman?”

“Can’t you just take advice?” she said irritably. She kicked at a stone and watched it roll down the slope.

Perrin did not like jumping to conclusions—it was one of the reasons some people thought him slow-witted—but he totalled up a number of things Min had said in the last few days and came to a startling conclusion. He stopped dead, hunting for words. “Uh ... Min, you know I like you. I like you, but. ... Uh ... you sort of remind me of my sisters. I mean, you ...” The flow stumbled to a halt as she raised her head to look at him, eyebrows arched. She wore a small smile.

“Why, Perrin, you must know that I love you.” She stood there, watching his mouth work, then spoke slowly and carefully. “Like a brother, you great wooden-headed lummox! The arrogance of men never ceases to amaze me. You all think everything has to do with you, and every woman has to desire you.”

Perrin felt his face growing hot. “I never ... I didn’t ...” He cleared his throat. “What did you see about a woman?”

“Just take my advice,” she said, and started down toward the river again, walking fast. “If you forget all the rest,” she called over her shoulder, “heed that!”

He frowned after her—for once his thoughts seemed to arrange themselves quickly—then caught up in two strides. “It’s Rand, isn’t it?”

She made a sound in her throat and gave him a sidelong look. She did not slow down, though. “Maybe you aren’t so boneheaded after all,” she muttered. After a moment she added, as if to herself, “I’m bound to him as surely as a stave is bound to the barrel. But I can’t see if he’ll ever love me in return. And I am not the only one.”

“Does Rand know?”

“Oh, of course,” she said bitterly. “I told him, didn’t I? ‘Rand, I did a viewing of you, and it seems I have to fall in love with you. I have to share you, too, and I don’t much like that, but there it is.’ You’re a wooden-headed wonder after all, Perrin Aybara.” She dashed a hand across her eyes angrily. “If I could be with him, I know I could help. Somehow. Light, if he dies, I don’t know if I can stand it.”

Perrin shrugged uncomfortably. “Listen, Min. I’ll do what I can to help him.”  _ However much that is _ . “I promise you that.”

“And what can be done to help those who refuse to be helped?” said Moiraine.

He had smelled her from afar but he still stopped short. She was a slender, dark-haired woman no taller than his shoulder, and pretty, with the ageless quality of all Aes Sedai who had worked with the One Power for a time. He could not put any age at all to her, with her face too smooth for many years and her dark eyes too wise for youth. Her dress of deep blue silk was disarrayed and dusty, and wisps stuck out in her usually well-ordered hair. A smudge of dust lay across her face.

He dropped his eyes. “He ... He didn’t mean ... It was an accident.”

“An accident,” she said in a flat voice, then shook her head. “Return to camp and prepare to depart, Perrin. We will have to ride through the night. What Rand did might as well have been a fire on the mountaintop for any Myrddraal within ten miles. If that Grey Man was not alone, and we dare not be so foolish as to assume that he was, then the Shadow knows where we are.”


	8. Within the Weave

CHAPTER 5: Within the Weave

The sun behind them stood no more than an hour above the treetops, but the Warder had said they would reach a town called Remen, on the Luan, before dark and Perrin had little doubt they would. Lan was rarely mistaken about such things.

Sure enough, only a few minutes later Lan appeared from ahead and swung his black war horse in beside Moiraine’s mare. “Remen lies just over the next hill,” he said. “They have had an eventful day or two, it seems.”

Lan was tall and hard, broad-shouldered, with blue eyes like frozen mountain lakes, and he moved with a deadly grace that made the sword on his hip seem a part of him. It was not that he seemed merely capable of violence and death; this man had tamed violence and death and kept them in his pocket, ready to be loosed in a heartbeat, or embraced, should Moiraine give the word. Beside Lan, even Uno appeared less dangerous. There was a touch of grey in the Warder’s long hair, held back by a woven leather cord around his forehead, but younger men stepped back from confronting Lan—if they were wise.

The Aes Sedai simply gave him a searching look, then heeled her white mare to a quicker step.

They topped the hill, and Remen lay spread out below them, hard against the river. The Luan stretched more than half a mile wide here, and there was no bridge to Valreis on the other side, though two crowded, barge like ferries crept across, propelled by long oars, and one nearly empty was returning. Three more shared long stone docks with nearly a dozen river traders’ vessels, some with one mast, some with two. A few bulky grey stone warehouses separated the docks from the town itself, where the buildings seemed mostly of stone, as well, though roofed in tiles of every colour from yellow to red to purple, and the streets ran every which way around a central square.

Moiraine pulled up the deep hood of her cloak to hide her face before she rode down. Rand was slow to follow. He sat on Ingtar’s old horse, staring at the ships, surrounded by his guards and maids, with Min at his side.

As usual, the people in the streets stared at Loial, but this time Perrin heard awed murmurs of “Ogier.” Loial sat straighter in his saddle than he had in some time, and his ears stood straight, and a smile just curled the ends of his wide mouth. He was obviously trying not to let on that he was pleased, but he looked like a cat having its ears scratched. Perrin had heard that there were quite a few  _ stedding _ in the Black Hills and could only assume that Ogier were not as rare a sight here as they were in most other places.

Remen looked like any of a dozen towns to Perrin—it was full of man-made aromas and man smell; with a strong smell of the river, of course—and he was wondering what Lan could have meant when the hair on the back of his neck stirred as he scented something—wrong. As soon as his nose took it in, it was gone like a horse hair dropped onto hot coals, but he remembered it. He had smelled the same smell yesterday, and it had vanished the same way, then. It was not a Twisted One or a Neverborn— _ Trolloc, burn me, not a Twisted One! Not a Neverborn! A Myrddraal, a Fade, a Halfman, anything but a Neverborn! _ —not a Trolloc or a Fade, yet the stench had been every bit as sharp, every bit as vile. Grey Man, he knew now. They left no lasting trail it seemed, but if he’d known then he might have given warning. Thanks to Hurin it had been unnecessary.

They rode into the town square. One of the big paving blocks had been pried up, right in the middle of the square, so a gibbet could be erected. A single thick timber rose out of the dirt, supporting a braced crosspiece from which hung an iron cage, the bottom of it four paces high. A tall man dressed all in greys and browns sat in the cage, holding his knees under his chin. He had no room to do otherwise. Three small boys were pitching stones at him. The man looked straight ahead, not flinching when a stone made it between the bars. More than one trickle of blood stained his face. The townspeople walking by paid no more mind to what the boys were doing than the man did, though every last one of them looked at the cage, most of them with approval, and some with fear.

Moiraine made a sound in her throat that might have been disgust.

“There is more,” Lan said. “Come. I’ve already arranged rooms at an inn. I think you will find it interesting.”

Perrin looked back over his shoulder at the caged man as he rode after them. There was something familiar about the man, but he could not place it.

“They shouldn’t do that.” Loial’s rumble sounded halfway to a snarl. “The children, I mean. The grown-ups should stop them.”

“They should,” Perrin agreed, barely paying attention.  _ Why is he familiar? _

The sign over the door of the inn Lan led them to, nearer the river, read Wayland’s Forge, which Perrin took for a good omen, though there seemed to be nothing of the smithy about the place except the leather-aproned man with a hammer painted on the sign. It was a large, purple-roofed, three-story building of squared and polished grey stones, with large windows and scroll-carved doors, and it had a prosperous look. Stablemen came running to take the horses, bowing even more deeply after Lan tossed them coins.

Inside, Perrin stared at the people. The men and women at the tables were all dressed in their feastday clothes, it seemed to him, with more embroidered coats, more lace on dresses, more coloured ribbons and fringed scarves, than he had seen in a long time. Only four women sitting at one table wore plain dresses, and they were the only ones who did not look up expectantly when Perrin and the others walked in. The four women kept on talking softly. He could make out a little of what they were saying, about the virtues of peppers over grain as cargo and what the troubles in Valreis might have done to prices. Captains of trading ships, he decided. The others seemed to be local folk. Even the serving women appeared to be wearing their best, their long aprons covering embroidered dresses with bits of lace at the neck.

The kitchen was working heavily; he could smell mutton, lamb, chicken, and beef, as well as some sort of vegetables. And a spicy cake that made him forget meat for a moment.

The innkeeper herself met them just inside, a plump woman with shining brown eyes in a smooth pink face, bowing and dry-washing her hands. If she had not come to them, Perrin would never have taken her for the landlady, for instead of the expected white apron, she wore a dress like everyone else, all white-and-green embroidery on stout blue wool.

_ Why are they all wearing clothes for festival? _ Perrin wondered.

“Ah, Master Andra,” the innkeeper said, addressing Lan. “And an Ogier, just as you said. Not that I doubted, of course. Not with all that’s happened, and never your word, master. Why not an Ogier? Ah, friend Ogier, to be having you in the house gives me more pleasure than you can be knowing. ’Tis a fine thing, and a fitting cap to it all. Ah, and mistress. ...” Her eyes took in the deep blue silk of her dress and the rich wool of her cloak, dusty from travel but still fine. “Forgive me, Lady, please.” Her curtsy was low. “Master Andra did not make your station clear, Lady. I meant no disrespect. You are even more welcome than friend Ogier here, of course, Lady. Please, take no offense at Gaina Furlan’s poor tongue.”

“I take none.” Moiraine’s voice calmly accepted the title Mistress Furlan gave her. It was far from the first time the Aes Sedai had gone under another name, or pretended to be something she was not. It was not the first Perrin had heard Lan name himself Andra, either. The deep hood still hid Moiraine’s smooth Aes Sedai features, and she held her cloak around her with one hand as if taken with a chill. Not the hand on which she wore her Great Serpent ring. “You have had strange occurrences in the town, innkeeper, so I understand. Nothing to trouble travellers, I trust.”

“Ah, Lady, you might be calling them strange indeed. Your own radiant presence is more than enough to honour this humble house, Lady, and bringing an Ogier with you, but we have Hunters in Remen, too. Right here in Wayland’s Forge, they are. Hunters for the Horn of Valere, set out from Illian for adventure. And adventure they found, Lady, here in Remen, or just a mile or two downriver, fighting wild Aielmen, of all things. Can you imagine black-veiled Aiel savages in Tar Valon again, Lady?”

Aiel. Now Perrin knew what was familiar about the man in the cage. He had seen an Aiel once, one of those fierce, nearly legendary denizens of the harsh land called the Waste. The man had looked a good deal like Rand, taller than most, with grey eyes and reddish hair, and he had been dressed like the man in the cage, all in browns and greys that would fade into rock or brush, with soft boots laced to his knees. Perrin could almost hear Min’s voice again.  _ An Aielman in a cage. A turning point in your life, or something important that will happen _ . He glanced at the door, but she and Rand hadn’t arrived yet.

“Why do you have ...?” He stopped to clear his throat so he would not sound so hoarse. “How did an Aiel come to be caged in your town square?”

“Ah, young master, that is a story to ...” Mistress Furlan trailed off, eyeing him up and down, taking in his plain country clothes and the longbow in his hands, pausing over the axe at his belt opposite his quiver. The plump woman gave a start when her study reached Perrin’s face, as if, with a Lady and an Ogier present, she had just now noticed Perrin’s yellow eyes. “He would be your servant, Master Andra?” she asked cautiously.

“Answer him,” was all Lan said.

“Ah. Ah, of course, Master Andra. But here’s who can tell it better than myself. ’Tis Lord Orban, himself. ’Tis he we have gathered to hear.”

A dark-haired, youngish man in a red coat, with a bandage wound around his temples, was making his way down the stairs at the side of the common room using padded crutches, the left leg of his breeches cut away so more bandages could strap his calf from ankle to knee. The townspeople murmured as if seeing something wondrous. The ship captains went on with their quiet talking; they had come ’round to furs. Furlan might have thought the man in the red coat could tell the story better, but she went ahead herself. “Lord Orban and Lord Gann faced twenty wild Aielmen with only ten retainers. Ah, fierce was the fighting and hard, with many wounds given and received. Six good retainers died, and every man took hurts, Lord Orban and Lord Gann worst of all, but every Aiel the slew, save those who fled, and one they took prisoner. ’Tis that one you see out there in the square, where he’ll not be troubling the countryside anymore with his savage ways, no more than the dead ones will.”

“You have had trouble from Aiel this far west?” Moiraine asked.

Perrin was wondering the same thing, with no little consternation. If some people still occasionally used “black-veiled Aiel” as a term for someone violent, it was testimony to the impression the Aiel War had left, but that was twenty years in the past, now, and the Aiel had never come out of the Waste before or since.  _ But I saw some this side of the Spine of the World, and now I’ve seen more _ .

The innkeeper rubbed at her chin. “Ah. Ah, no, Lady, not exactly. But we would have had, you can be sure, with twenty savages loose. Why, everyone remembers how they killed and looted and burned their way across Cairhien. Men from this very village marched to the Battle of the Shining Walls, when the nations gathered to throw them back. I remember well, as we all do. How they came here, so far from their own land, or why, I do not know, but Lord Orban and Lord Gann saved us from them.” There was a murmur of agreement from the folk in feastday clothes.

Orban himself came stumping across the common room, not seeming to see anyone but the innkeeper. Perrin could smell stale wine before he was even close. “Where’s that old woman taken herself off to with her herbs, Furlan?” Orban demanded roughly. “Gann’s wounds are paining him, and my head feels about to split open.”

Mistress Furlan almost bent her head to the floor. “Ah, Herbalist Leich will be back in the morning, Lord Orban. A birthing, Lord. But she said she’d stitched and poulticed your wounds, and Lord Gann’s, so there’d be no worrying. Ah, Lord Orban, I’m sure she’ll be seeing to you first thing on the morrow.”

The bandaged man muttered something under his breath—under his breath to any ears but Perrin’s—about waiting on a farmwife “throwing her litter” and something else about being “sewn up like a sack of meal.” He shifted sullen, angry eyes, and for the first time appeared to see the newcomers. Perrin, he dismissed immediately, which did not surprise Perrin at all. His eyes widened a little at Loial— _ He’s seen Ogier _ , Perrin thought,  _ but he never thought to see one here _ —narrowed a bit at Lan— _ He knows a fighting man when he sees one, and he does not like seeing one _ —and brightened as he stooped to peer inside Moiraine’s hood, though he was not close enough to see her face.

Perrin decided not to think anything at all about that, not concerning an Aes Sedai, and he hoped neither Moiraine nor Lan thought anything of it, either. A light in the Warder’s eyes told him he had missed on that hope, at least.

“Twelve of you fought twenty Aiel?” Lan asked in a flat voice.

Orban straightened, wincing. In an elaborately casual tone, he said, “Aye, you must expect things such as that when you seek the Horn of Valere. It was not the first such encounter for Gann and me, nor will it be the last before we find the Horn. If the Light shines on us.” He sounded as if the Light could not possibly do anything else. “Not all our fights have been with Aiel, of course, but there are always those who would stop Hunters, if they could. Gann and I, we do not stop easily.” Another approving murmur came from the townspeople. Orban stood a little straighter.

“You lost six, and took one prisoner.” From Lan’s voice, it was not clear if that was a good exchange or a poor one.

“Aye,” Orban said, “we slew the rest, save those who ran. No doubt they’re hiding their dead now; I’ve heard they do that. The Whitecloaks are out searching for them, but they’ll never find them.”

“There are Whitecloaks here?” Perrin asked sharply. They weren’t far from Valreis, but he’d still hoped they’d gone far enough to outrun them.

Orban glanced at him, and dismissed him once more. The man addressed Lan again. “Whitecloaks always put their noses in where they are not wanted or needed. Incompetent louts, all of them. Aye, they’ll ride all over the countryside for days, but I doubt they’ll find as much as their own shadows.”

“I suppose they won’t,” Lan said.

The bandaged man frowned as if unsure exactly what Lan meant. If he had a response it was interrupted when the main entrance was shoved open and Rand strode in, his unadorned armour strapped over his long red coat, and Surtir’s old sword hanging from his hip. Half a dozen hard-faced Shienarans followed him into the inn.

Orban took one look at him and broke out in a sudden sweat. “Another one,” he grated.

“Another Lord,” Mistress Furlan agreed. “Where am I to find the room?”

Orban rounded on the innkeeper. “Better you find that old woman, hear! My head is splitting.” With a last glance at Lan, he hobbled away, climbing back up the stairs one at a time, followed by murmurs of admiration for a Hunter of the Horn who had slain Aielmen. The commotion won him a brief glance from Rand, who then shrugged dismissively and came to join them.

“This is an eventful town.” Loial’s deep voice drew every eye to him. Except for the ship captains, who seemed to be discussing rope, as near as Perrin could make out. “Everywhere I go, you humans are doing things, hurrying and scurrying, having things happen to you. How can you stand so much excitement?”

“Ah, friend Ogier,” Mistress Furlan said, “ ’tis the way of us humans to want excitement. Why, let me tell you—”

“Our rooms.” Moiraine did not raise her voice, but her words cut the innkeeper short like a sharp knife. “Andra did arrange rooms, did he not?”

“Ah, Lady, forgive me. Yes, Master Andra did indeed hire rooms. Forgive me, please. ’Tis all the excitement, makes my head empty itself. Please forgive me, Lady. This way, if you please. If you’ll please to follow me.” Bowing and scraping, apologizing and babbling without pause, Furlan led them up the stairs.

At the top, Perrin paused to look back. He heard the murmurs of “Lady” and “Ogier” down there, could feel all those eyes, but it seemed to him that he felt one pair of eyes in particular, someone staring not at Moiraine, or Loial, or Rand, but at him.

He picked her out immediately. For one thing, she stood apart from the others, and for another she was the only woman in the room not wearing at least a little lace. Her dark grey, almost black, dress was as plain as the ship captains’ clothes, with wide sleeves and narrow skirts, and never a frill or stitch of fancy-work. The dress was divided for riding, he saw when she moved, and she wore soft boots that peeked out under the hem. She was young—no older than Elayne, perhaps—and tall for a woman, with black hair to her shoulders. A nose that just missed being too large and too bold, a generous mouth, high cheekbones, and dark, slightly tilted eyes. He could not quite decide whether she was beautiful or not.

As soon as he looked down, she turned to address one of the serving women and did not glance at the stairs again, but he was sure he had been right. She had been staring at him.


	9. A Different Dance

CHAPTER 6: A Different Dance

Mistress Furlan burbled on as she showed them to their rooms, though Perrin did not really listen. He was too busy wondering if the black-haired girl knew what yellow eyes meant.  _ Burn me, she  _ was _ looking at me _ .

“Did you see the Aielman?” he asked Rand.

His friend nodded grimly. “Min and Anna are still back there arguing with the mothers of those kids Anna thumped. Min recognised him as quickly as Anna did. She never told me she’d seen an Aiel before.”

Perrin grunted. “Like those ones back in Cairhien. I wonder why they’re here.” He actually had a pretty good idea why they were here, but it was something Rand didn’t like to speak of.

“None of our business,” Rand said firmly and predictably. “I just want to find a ship and get out of here as soon as possible. I smell trouble brewing, and the last thing I want is trouble in Tar Valon. I sent Geko to the docks to look for a suitable transport.”

“Avoiding trouble with Tar Valon is a rare act of wisdom on your part,” said Moiraine. “Sending Geko without consulting me is not.”

“Why would I consult someone as untrustworthy as you?” Rand said bluntly, winning himself a sharp look from Lan and a sharper word from Moiraine.

“Because you so obviously do not know what you are doing and, left to your own devices, will cause disaster for us all.” So saying she stepped through the doorway that Furlan had led them to and slammed the door behind her so hard that the crash echoed down the hallway.

“Keep a quiet!” came a muffled shout from the far end. “My head is splitting!”

“Ah.” Furlan washed her hands in one direction, then rubbed them in the other. “Ah. Forgive me Master Andra, but Lady Alys is a fierce-sounding woman.”

“Only with those who displease her,” Lan said blandly. “Her bite is far worse than her bark.”

“Ah. Ah. Ah. Your rooms are this way. Ah, friend Ogier, when Master Andra told me you were coming, I had an old Ogier bed brought from the attic where it has been gathering dust these three hundred years or more. Why, ’tis ...”

Perrin let the words wash over him, hearing them no more than a river rock hears the water. The black-haired young woman worried him. And the caged Aiel.

Once in his own room—a small one in the back; Lan had done nothing to disabuse the innkeeper of the notion that Perrin was a servant—he moved mechanically, still wrapped in thought. He unstrung his bow and propped it in the corner—keeping it strung too long ruined bow and string alike—set down his blanketroll and saddlebags beside the washstand and threw his cloak across them. He hung his belts with quiver and axe from pegs on the wall, and nearly lay down on the bed before a jaw-cracking yawn reminded him how dangerous that might be, with the wolves waiting for him in that strange dreamworld. The bed was narrow, and the mattress appeared to be all lumps; it looked more inviting than any bed he could remember. He sat on the three-legged stool, instead, and thought. Always he liked to think things through.

After a time, Loial rapped on the door and put his head in. The Ogier’s ears practically quivered with excitement, and his grin very nearly split his broad face in two. “Perrin, you will not believe it! My bed is sung wood! Why, it must be well over a thousand years old. No Treesinger has sung a piece so large in at least that long. I myself would not care to try it, and I have the talent more strongly than most, now. Well, to be truthful, there are not many of us with the talent at all, anymore. But I am among the best of those who can sing wood.”

“That is very interesting,” Perrin said.  _ An Aiel in a cage. That is what Min said. Why was that girl staring at me? _

“I thought it was.” Loial sounded a little put out that he did not share the Ogier’s excitement, but all Perrin wanted to do was think. “Supper is ready below, Perrin. They have prepared their finest in case the Hunters want anything, but we can have some.”

“You go on, Loial. I’m not hungry.” The smells of cooking meat floating up from the kitchen did not interest him. He hardly noticed Loial going.

Hands on his knees, yawning now and again, he tried to work it out. It seemed like one of those puzzles Master Weyland made, the metal pieces appearing to be linked inextricably. But there was always a trick to make the iron loops and whirls come apart, and there had to be here, too.

The girl had been looking at him. His eyes might explain that, except that the innkeeper had ignored them, and no-one else had even noticed. They had an Ogier to look at, and Hunters of the Horn in the house, and a Lady visiting, and an Aiel caged in the square. Nothing as small as the colour of a man’s eyes could seize their attention; nothing about a servant could compete with the rest.  _ So why did she pick me to stare at? _

And the Aiel in the cage. What Min saw was always important. But how? What was he supposed to do?  _ I could have stopped those children throwing rocks. I should have _ . It was no use telling himself the adults would certainly have told him to go on about his business, that he was a stranger in Remen and the Aiel was none of his concern. Anna obviously hadn’t been put off by that.  _ I should have tried _ .

No answers came to him, so he went back to the beginning and patiently worked through it once more, then again, and again. Still he found nothing except regret for what he had not done.

It came to him after a time that night had finally fallen. The room was dark except for a little moonlight through the lone window. He thought about the tallow candle and the tinderbox he had seen on the mantel over the narrow fireplace, but there was more than enough light for his eyes.  _ I have to do something, don’t I? _

He buckled on his axe, then paused. He had done it without thinking; wearing the thing had become as natural as breathing. He did not like that. But he left the belt around his waist, and went out.

Light from the stairs made the hallway seem almost bright after his room. Talk and laughter drifted up from the common room, and cooking smells from the kitchen. He strode toward the front of the inn, to Moiraine’s room, knocked once, and went in. And stopped, his face burning.

She stood half-naked before the washstand mirror, her pert breasts with their small, dark nipples, completely bare. No flush coloured her pale skin at his interruption and her eyes might as well have been daggers. Perrin jerked his gaze away and swallowed convulsively.  _ Hasty fool! Why didn’t you think it through? _

Moiraine pulled the pale blue robe that hung from her shoulders around herself. “You wish something?” she asked coolly. She had a silver-backed hairbrush in one hand, and her hair, spilling down her neck in dark waves, glistened as if she had been brushing it. Her room was far finer than his, with polished wooden panelling on the walls and silver-chased lamps and a warm fire on the wide brick hearth. The air smelled of rose-scented soap.

“I ... I thought Lan was here,” he managed to get out. “You two always have your heads together, and I thought he’d ... I thought ...”

“What do you want, Perrin?”

He took a deep breath. “Is this Rand’s doing? It all seems odd—the Hunters, the Whitecloaks and Aiel—but did he do it? Is it part of that web Loial keeps talking about?”

“I do not think so. I will know more when Lan tells me what he discovers tonight.”

Perrin shifted his feet uneasily. “You told me once that you could sense a Darkfriend, one who was far gone into the Shadow, at least. Lan, too. Have you sensed anything like that here?”

She gave a loud sniff and turned back to a tall standing mirror with finely made silver-work set in the legs. Holding her robe closed with one hand, she ran the brush through her hair with the other. “Very few humans are so far gone as that, Perrin, even among the worst Darkfriends.” The brush halted in midstroke. “Why do you ask?”

“I thought I smelled another Grey Man when we first entered the town. And there was a girl down in the common room staring at me. Not at you and Loial, like everybody else. At me.”

The brush resumed motion, and a smile briefly touched Moiraine’s lips. “You sometimes forget, Perrin, that you are a good-looking young man. Some girls admire a pair of shoulders.” He grunted and shuffled his feet. “Was there something else, Perrin?”

“Uh ... no.” She could not help with Min’s viewing, not beyond telling him what he already knew, that it was important. And he did not want to tell her what Min had seen. Or that Min had seen anything, for that matter.

Back out in the hall with the door closed, he leaned against the wall for a moment _. Light, just walking in on her like that, and her ... _ She was a pretty woman.  _ And likely old enough to be my mother, or more _ . He thought Mat would probably have asked her down to the common room to dance.  _ No, he wouldn’t. Even Mat isn’t fool enough to try charming an Aes Sedai _ . Moiraine did dance. He had danced with her once himself. And nearly fallen over his own feet with every other step.  _ Stop thinking about her like a village girl just because you saw ... She’s bloody Aes Sedai! You have that Aiel to worry about _ . He gave himself a shake and went downstairs.

The common room was full as it could be, with every chair taken, and stools and benches brought in, and those who had nowhere to sit standing along the walls. He did not see the black-haired girl, or any of his companions save Hurin and Masema, and no one else looked at him twice as he hurriedly crossed the room.

Orban occupied a table to himself, his bandaged leg propped up on a chair with a cushion, with a soft slipper on that foot, a silver goblet in his hand, the serving women keeping it filled with wine. “Aye,” he was saying to the whole room, “we knew the Aiel for fierce fighters, Gann and I, but there was no time to hesitate. I drew my sword, and dug my heels into Lion’s ribs ...”

Perrin gave a start before he realized the man meant his horse was named Lion.  _ Wouldn’t put it past him to say he was riding a lion _ . He felt a little ashamed; just because he did not like the man was no reason to suppose the Hunter would take his boasting that far. He hurried on outside without looking back.

The street in front of the inn was as crowded as inside, with people who could not find a place in the common room peering in through the windows, and twice as many huddling around the doors to listen to Orban’s tale. No-one glanced at Perrin twice, though his passage brought muttered complaints from those jostled a little further from the door.

Everyone who was out in the night must have been at the inn, for he saw no one as he walked to the square. Sometimes the shadow of a person moved across a lighted window, but that was all. He had the feel of being watched, though, and looked around uneasily. Nothing but night-cloaked streets dotted with glowing windows. Around the square, most of the windows were dark except a few on upper floors.

The gibbet stood as he remembered, the man—the Aiel—still in the cage, hanging higher than he could reach. The Aiel seemed to be awake—at least his head was up—but he never looked down at Perrin. The stones the children had been throwing were scattered beneath the cage.

The cage hung from a thick rope tied to a ring on one of the upper bars and running through a heavy pulley on the crosspiece down to a pair of stubs, waist-high from the bottom of the upright on either side. The excess rope lay in a careless tangle of coils at the foot of the gibbet.

Perrin looked around again, searching the dark square. He still had the feel of being watched, but he still saw nothing. He listened, and heard nothing. He smelled chimney smoke and cooking from the houses, and man-sweat and old blood from the man in the cage. There was no fear scent from him.

_ His weight, and then there’s the cage _ , he thought as he moved closer to the gibbet. He did not know when he had decided to do this, or even if he really had decided, but he knew he was going to do it.

Hooking a leg around the heavy upright, he heaved on the rope, hoisting the cage enough to gain a little slack. The way the rope jerked told him the man in the cage had finally moved, but he was in too much of a hurry to stop and tell him what he was doing. The slack let him unwind the rope from around the stubs. Still bracing himself with his leg around the upright, he quickly lowered the cage hand over hand to the paving blocks.

The Aiel was looking at him now, studying him silently. Perrin said nothing. When he got a good look at the cage, his mouth tightened. If a thing was made, even a thing like this, it should be made well. The entire front of the cage was a door, on rude hinges made by a hasty hand, held by a good iron lock on a chain as badly wrought as the cage. He fumbled the chain around until he found the worst link, then jammed the thick spike on his axe through it. A sharp twist of his wrist forced the link open. In seconds he separated the chain, rattled it free, and swung open the front of the cage.

The Aiel sat there, knees yet under his chin, staring at him.

“Well?” Perrin whispered hoarsely. “I opened it, but I’m not going to bloody carry you.” He looked hastily around the night-dark square. Still nothing moved, but he still had the feel of eyes watching.

“You are strong, wetlander.” The Aiel did not move beyond working his shoulders. “It took three men to hoist me up there. And now you bring me down. Why?”

“I don’t like seeing people in cages,” Perrin whispered. He wanted to go. The cage was open and those eyes were watching. But the Aiel was not moving.  _ If you do a thing, do it right _ . “Will you get out of there before somebody comes?”

The Aiel grasped the frontmost overhead bar of the cage, heaved himself out and to his feet in one motion, then half hung there, supporting himself with his grip on the bar. He would have been nearly a head taller than Perrin, standing straight. He glanced at Perrin’s eyes—Perrin knew how they must shine, burnished gold in the night—but he did not mention them. “I have been in there since yesterday, wetlander.” He sounded like Lan. Not that their voices or accents were anything alike, but the Aiel had that same unruffled coolness, that same calm sureness. “It will take a moment for my legs to work. I am Gaul, of the Imran sept of the Shaarad Aiel, wetlander. I am  _ Shae’en M’taal _ , a Stone Dog. My water is yours.”

“Well, I am Perrin Aybara. Of the Theren. I’m a blacksmith.” The man was out of the cage; he could go now. Only, if anyone came along before Gaul could walk, he would be right back into the cage unless they killed him, and either way would waste Perrin’s work. “If I had thought, I’d have brought a waterbottle, or a skin. Why do you call me ‘wetlander’?”

Gaul gestured toward the river; even Perrin’s eyes could not be sure in the dark, but he thought the Aiel looked uneasy for the first time. “Three days ago, I watched a girl sporting in a huge pool of water. It must have been twenty paces across. She ... pulled herself out into it.” He made an awkward swimming gesture with one hand. “A brave girl. Crossing these ... rivers ... has nearly unmanned me. I never thought there could be such a thing as too much water, but I never thought there was so much water in the world as you wetlanders have.”

Perrin shook his head. He knew the Aiel Waste held little water—it was one of the few things he knew about the Waste or the Aiel—but he had not thought it could be scarce enough to cause this reaction. “You’re a long way from home, Gaul. Why are you here?”

“We search,” Gaul said slowly. “We look for He Who Comes With the Dawn.”

Perrin had heard that name before, under circumstances that made him sure who it meant.  _ Light, it always comes back to Rand. I am tied to him like a mean horse for shoeing _ . “Well you found him, but I don’t think he particularly wants to be found.”

The Aiel’s head jerked in surprise. “Here?”

“For a little while. Are you about ready to leave? Somebody could come any minute.”

“It is too late to run,” Gaul said, and a deep voice shouted, “The savage is lose!” Ten or a dozen white-cloaked men came running across the square, drawing swords, their conical helmets shining in the starlight. Children of the Light.

As if he had all the time in the world, Gaul calmly lifted a dark cloth from his shoulders and wrapped it around his head, finishing with a thick black veil that hid his face except for his eyes. “Do you like to dance, Perrin Aybara?” he asked. With that, he darted away from the cage. Straight at the oncoming Whitecloaks.

For an instant they were caught by surprise, but an instant was apparently all the Aiel needed. He kicked the sword out of the grip of the first to reach him, then his stiffened hand struck like a dagger at the Whitecloak’s throat, and he slid around the soldier as he fell. The next man’s arm made a loud snap as Gaul broke it. He pushed that man under the feet of a third, and kicked a fourth in the face. I was like a dance, from one to the next without stopping or slowing, though the tripped fellow was climbing back to his feet, and the one with the broken arm had shifted his sword. Gaul danced on in the midst of them.

Perrin had only an amazed moment himself, for not all the Whitecloaks had put their attentions on the Aiel. Barely in time, he gripped the axe haft with both hands to block a sword thrust, swung ... and wanted to cry out as the half-moon blade tore the man’s throat. But he had no time for crying out, none for regrets; more Whitecloaks followed before the first fell. He hated the gaping wounds the axe made, hated the way it chopped through mail to rend flesh beneath, split helmet and skull with almost equal ease. He hated it all. But he did not want to die.

Time seemed to compress and stretch out, both at once. His body felt as if he fought for hours, and breath rasped raw in his throat. Men seemed to move as though floating through jelly. They seemed to leap in an instant from where they started to where they fell. Sweat rolled down his face, yet he felt as cold as quenching water. He fought for his life, and he could not have said whether it lasted seconds or all night.

When he finally stood, panting and nearly stunned, looking at a dozen white-cloaked men lying on the paving blocks of the square, no time seemed to have passed at all. Some of the men groaned; others lay silent and still. Gaul stood among them, still veiled, still empty-handed. Most of the men down were his work. Perrin wished they all were, and felt ashamed. The smell of blood and death was sharp and bitter.

“You do not dance the spears badly, Perrin Aybara.”

Head spinning, Perrin muttered, “I don’t see how twelve men fought twenty of you and won even if two of them are Hunters.”

“Is that what they say?” Gaul laughed softly. “Sarien and I were careless, being so long in these soft lands, and the wind was from the wrong direction, so we smelled nothing. We walked into them before we knew it. Well, Sarien is dead, and I was caged like a fool, so perhaps we paid enough. It is time for running now, wetlander. I will remember this.” At last he lowered the black veil. “May you always find water and shade, Perrin Aybara.” Turning, he ran into the night.

Perrin started to run, too, then realized he had a bloody axe in his hands. Hastily he wiped the curved blade on a dead man’s cloak.  _ He’s dead, burn me, and there’s blood on it already _ . He made himself put the haft back through the loop on his belt before he broke into a trot.

At his second step he saw her, a slim shape at the edge of the square, in dark, narrow skirts. She turned to run; he could see they were divided for riding. She darted back into the street and vanished.

Lan met him before he reached the place where she had been standing. The Warder took in the cage sitting empty beneath the gibbet, the shadowed white mounds that lay in the street, and he tossed his head as if he were about to erupt. In a voice as tight and hard as a new wheel rim, he said, “Is this your work, blacksmith? The Light burn me! Is there anyone who can connect it to you?”

“A girl,” Perrin said. “I think she saw. I don’t want you to hurt her, Lan! Plenty of others could have seen, too. There are lighted windows all around.”

The Warder grabbed Perrin’s coat sleeve and gave him a push toward the inn. “I saw a girl running, but I thought ... No matter. You dig the Ogier out and haul him down to the stable. After this, we need to get our horses to the docks as quickly as possible. The Light alone knows if there is a ship sailing tonight, or what we’ll have to pay to hire one if there isn’t. Don’t ask questions, blacksmith! Do it! Run!”


	10. The Falcon

CHAPTER 7: The Falcon

The Warder’s long legs outdistanced Perrin’s, and by the time he pushed through the throng outside the inn doors, Lan was already striding up the stairs, not seeming in any particular hurry. Perrin made himself walk as slowly. From the doorway behind him came grumbles about people pushing ahead of other people.

“Again?” Orban was saying, holding his silver cup up to be refilled. “Aye, very well. They lay in ambush close beside the road we travelled, and an ambush I did not expect so close to Remen. Screaming, they rushed upon us from the crowding brush. In a breath they were in our midst, their spears stabbing, slaying two of my best men and one of Gann’s immediately. Aye, I knew Aiel when I saw them, and ...”

Perrin hurried up the stairs.  _ Well, Orban knows them now _ .

Lan said something to Izana which had him rapping firmly on Rand’s door, before the Warder let himself into Moiraine’s room. Voices came from behind her door. Perrin did not want to hear what she had to say about this. He hurried past to stick his head into Loial’s room.

The Ogier bed was a low, massive thing, twice as long and half as wide as any human bed Perrin had ever seen. It took up much of the room, and that was as large and as fine as Moiraine’s. Perrin vaguely remembered Loial saying something about it being sung wood, and at any other time he might have stopped to admire those flowing curves that made it seem as if the bed had somehow grown where it stood. Ogier really must have stopped in Remen at some time in the past, for the innkeeper had also found a wooden armchair that fit Loial, and filled it with cushions. The Ogier was comfortably sitting on them in his shirt and breeches, idly scratching a bare ankle with a toenail as he wrote in a large, cloth-bound book on an arm of the chair.

“We’re leaving!” Perrin said.

Loial gave a jump, nearly upsetting his ink bottle and almost dropping the book. “Leaving? We only just arrived,” he rumbled.

“Yes, leaving. Meet us at the stable as quickly as you can. And don’t let anyone see you go. I think there’s a back stair that runs down by the kitchen.” The smell of food at his end of the hall had been too strong for there not to be.

The Ogier gave one regretful look at the bed, then started tugging on his high boots. “But why?”

“The Whitecloaks,” Perrin said. “I’ll tell you more later.” He ducked back out before Loial could ask any more.

He had not unpacked. Once he had belted on his quiver, slung his cloak around him, tossed blanketroll and saddlebags on his shoulder, and picked up his bow, there was no sign he had ever been there. Not a wrinkle in the folded blankets at the foot of the bed, not a splash of water in the cracked basin on the washstand. Even the tallow candle still had a fresh wick, he realized.  _ I must have known I would not be staying. I don’t seem to leave any mark behind me, of late _ .

As he has suspected, a narrow stair at the back led down to a hall that ran out past the kitchen. He peered cautiously into the kitchen. A spit dog trotted in his big wicker wheel, turning a long spit that held a haunch of lamb, a large piece of beef, five chickens, and a goose. Fragrant steam rose from a soup cauldron hanging from a sturdy crane over a second hearth. But there was not a cook to be seen, nor any living soul except the dog. Thankful for Orban’s lies, he hurried on into the night.

The stable was a large structure of the same stone as the inn, though only the stone faces around the big doors had been polished. A single lantern hanging from a stallpost gave a dim light. Stepper and the other horses stood in stalls near the doors; Loial’s big mount nearly filled his. The smell of hay and horses was familiar and comforting. Perrin was the first to arrive.

There was only one stableman on duty, a narrow-faced fellow in a dirty shirt, with lanky grey hair, who demanded to know who Perrin was to order any horses saddled, and who was his master, and what he was doing all bundled up to travel in the middle of the night, and did Mistress Furlan know he was sneaking off like this, and what did he have hidden in those saddlebags, and what was wrong with his eyes, was he sick?

A coin flipped through the air from behind Perrin, glinting gold in the lantern light. The stableman snagged it with one hand and bit it.

“Saddle them,” Lan said. His voice was soft, as cold iron is soft, and the stableman bobbed a bow and scurried to make the horses ready.

Rand was not far behind him and Perrin suspected he hadn’t bothered to unpack either. “What happened?”

“I had some trouble with the Whitecloaks,” Perrin said.

“Again? Oh, Perrin,” said Anna as she joined them, and he couldn’t help but grimace.

Rand just shook his head. “Geko found a suitable ship, and so many armed soldiers aren’t likely to be refused if we insist on leaving early. We should be fine.”

“That’s hardly the point, Rand,” Anna objected.

“It’s the only point that matters any more, Anna,” Rand sighed. “We can’t afford to fail.”

The rest of their party were hastening to join them by then, shouldering their burdens before going to help the overworked stableman. The look Min gave Perrin was both knowing and sympathetic.

Moiraine and Loial came into the stable just as they could take up their reins, and then they were all leading their horses behind Lan, off down a street that ran behind the stable toward the river. The soft clop of the horses’ hooves on the paving blocks attracted only a slat-ribbed dog that barked once and ran away as they went by.

“This brings back memories, doesn’t it, Perrin?” Loial said, quietly for him.

“Keep your voice down,” Perrin whispered. “What memories?”

“Why, it is like old times.” The Ogier had managed to mute his voice; he sounded like a bumblebee only the size of a dog instead of a horse. “Sneaking away in the night, with enemies behind us, and maybe enemies ahead, and danger in the air, and the cold tang of adventure.”

Perrin frowned at Loial over Stepper’s saddle. It was easy enough; his eyes cleared the saddle and Loial stood head and shoulders and chest above it on the other side. “What are you talking about? I believe you are coming to like danger! Loial, you must be crazy!”

“I am only fixing the mood in my head,” Loial said, sounding formal. Or perhaps defensive. “For my book. I have to put it all in. I believe I am coming to like it. Adventuring. Of course, I am.” His ears gave two violent twitches. “I have to like it if I wish to write of it.”

Perrin shook his head.

At the stone wharves the barge like ferries lay snugged for the night, still and dark, as did most of the ships. Lantern lights and people moved around on the dock alongside a two-masted vessel, though, and on the deck as well. The main smells were tar and rope, with strong hints of fish, though something back in the nearest warehouse gave off sharp, spicy aromas that the others nearly submerged.

Lan located the captain, a short, slight woman with an odd way of holding her head tilted to one side while she listened. The price of passage had already been agreed, and space cleared for the horses, so the only conflict was over an early departure. The bargaining was over soon enough, coins changed hands, and booms and sling were rigged to hoist the horses aboard. Perrin kept a close eye on the horses, talking to them; horses had little tolerance for the unusual, such as being lifted into the air, but even the Warder’s stallion seemed soothed by his murmurs.

Lan gave gold to the captain, and silver to some sailors who ran barefoot to a warehouse for sacks of oats. More crewmen tethered the horses in a makeshift pen made of rope, all the while muttering about the mess they would have to clean. Perrin did not think anyone was supposed to overhear, but his ears caught the words. The men were just not used to horses.

Rand wore a wry smile as he watched the preparations, surrounded by his entourage.

“I hope it doesn’t sway as much as the last one,” Luci said, so softly even Perrin had difficulty hearing her.

“It’ll be fine, and even if it’s not, a little puking won’t kill you,” Saeri said cheerfully. She was the younger of the two, but Perrin thought her the tougher and the more confident as well.

“Unless you get any on Moiraine, in which case it was nice knowing you,” Min added, and Rand and the girls laughed.

Perrin didn’t, he was not in the mood for levity.  _ More dead men. No matter how hard I try to avoid it, trouble keeps finding me _ .

In short order the  _ Snow Goose _ was ready to sail, if a little ahead of what the captain—her name was Jaine Adarra—had intended. Lan led Moiraine below as the lines were cast off, and Loial followed yawning. Perrin stayed at the railing near the bow, though the Ogier’s every yawn had summoned one of his own. He wondered if the  _ Snow Goose _ could outrun wolves down the river, outrun dreams. Men began readying the sweeps to push the vessel away from the wharf.

As the last line was tossed ashore and seized by a dockman, a girl in narrow, divided skirts burst out of the shadows between two warehouses, a bundle in her arms and a dark cloak streaming behind her. She leaped onto the deck just as the men at the sweeps began pushing off.

Captain Adarra bustled from her place by the tiller, but she calmly set down her bundle and said briskly, “I will take passage downriver ... oh ... say, as far as he is going.” She nodded toward Perrin without looking at him. “I’ve no objections to sleeping on deck. Cold and wet do not bother me.”

Rand stared at the newcomer in silence, then gave Perrin an appraising look before smirking in a way that reminded him all too much of Mat.  _ I didn’t do anything _ , Perrin wanted to say. Anna didn’t smirk. She had been on her way below but now she drifted over to stand with Rand, watching.

A few minutes of bargaining followed. The strange girl passed over three silver marks, frowned at the coppers she got back, then stuffed them into her purse and came forward to stand beside Perrin.

She had an herbal scent to her, light and fresh and clean. Those dark, tilted eyes regarded him over high cheekbones, then turned to look back toward shore. She was about his own age, he decided, or close enough to it; he could not decide if her nose fit her face, or dominated it.  _ You are a fool, Perrin Aybara. Why care what she looks like? _

The gap to the wharf was a good twenty paces, now; the sweeps dug in, cutting white furrows in black water. For a moment he considered tossing her over the side.

“Well,” she said after a moment, “I never expected my travels to take me back to Illian so soon as this.” Her voice was high, and she had a flat way of speaking, but it was not unpleasant. “You are going to Illian, are you not?” He tightened his mouth. “Don’t sulk,” she said. “You left quite a mess back there, you and that Aielman between you. The uproar was just beginning when I left.”

“You did not tell them?” he said in surprise.

“The townsfolk think the Aielman chewed through the chain, or broke it with his bare hands. They had not decided which when I left.” She made a sound suspiciously like a giggle. “Orban was quite loud in his disgust that his wounds would keep him from hunting down the Aielman personally.”

Perrin snorted. “If he ever sees an Aiel again, he’ll bloody soil himself.” He cleared his throat and muttered, “Sorry.”

“I do not know about that,” she said, as if his remark had been nothing out of the way. “I saw him in Caemlyn during the winter. He fought four men together, killed two and made the other two yield. Of course, he started the fight, so that takes something away from it, but they knew what they were doing. He did not pick a fight with men who could not defend themselves. Still, he is a fool. He has these peculiar ideas about the Darkwood. Have you ever heard of it?”

He eyed her sideways. She spoke of fighting and killing as calmly as another woman might speak of baking. “Are you following me? You were staring at me, back at the inn. Why? And why didn’t you tell them what you saw?”

“An Ogier,” she said, staring at the river, “is obviously an Ogier, and the others were not much more difficult to figure out. I managed a much better look inside Lady Alys’s hood than Orban did, and her face makes that stone-faced fellow a Warder. The Light burn me if I’d want that one angry with me. Does he always look like that, or did he eat a rock for his last meal? The Andoran Lord is easy to spot too, though why he has Shienaran armsmen I am not sure. Did he marry into a Shienaran House? Anyway, that left only you. I do not like things I cannot account for.”

Once again he considered tossing her over the side. Seriously, this time. But Remen was now only a blotch of light well behind them in the darkness, and no telling how far it was to shore.

She seemed to take his silence as an urging to go on. “So there I have an”—she looked around then dropped her voice, though the closest crewman was working a sweep ten feet away—“an Aes Sedai, a Warder, an Ogier, a lordling—and you. A countryman, by first look at you.” Her tilted eyes rose to study his yellow ones intently—he refused to look away—and she smiled. “Only you free a caged Aielman, hold a long talk with him, then help him chop a dozen Whitecloaks into sausage. I assume you do this regularly; you certainly looked as if it were nothing out of the ordinary for you. I scent something strange in a party of travellers such as yours, and strange trails are what Hunters look for.”

He blinked; there was no mistaking that emphasis. “A Hunter? You? You cannot be a Hunter. You’re a girl.”

Her smile became so innocent that he almost walked away from her. She stepped back, made a flourish with each hand, and was holding two knives as neatly as old Thom Merrilin could have done it. One of the men at the sweeps made a choking sound, and two others stumbled; sweeps thrashed and tangled, and the  _ Snow Goose _ lurched a little before the captain’s shouts set things right. By that time, the black-haired girl had made the knives disappear again.

“Nimble fingers and nimble wits will take you a good deal further than a sword and muscles. Sharp eyes help, as well, but fortunately, I have these things.”

“And modesty, as well,” Perrin murmured. She did not seem to notice.

“I took the oath and received the blessing in the Great Square of Tammaz, in Illian. Perhaps was the youngest, but in that crowd, with all the trumpets and drums and cymbals and shouting ... A six-year-old could have taken the oath, and none would have noticed. There were over a thousand of us, perhaps two, and every one with an idea of where to find the Horn of Valere. I have mine—it still may be the right one—but no Hunter can afford to pass up a strange trail. The Horn will certainly lie at the end of a strange trail, and I have never seen one any stranger than the trail you make. Where are you bound? Illian? Somewhere else?”

“What was your idea?” he asked. “About where the Horn is?”  _ Safe in Tar Valon, I hope, and the Light send I never see it again _ . “You think it’s in Remen?”

She frowned at him—he had the feeling she did not give up a scent once she had raised it, but he was ready to offer her as many side trails as she would take—then said, “Have you ever heard of Manetheren?”

He nearly choked. “I have heard of it,” he said cautiously.

“Every queen of Manetheren was an Aes Sedai, and the king the Warder bound to her. I can’t imagine a place like that, but that is what the books say. It was a large land—most of Andor and Ghealdan and more besides—but the capital, the city itself, was in the Mountains of Mist. That is where I think the Horn is. Unless you lead me to it.”

His hackles stirred. She was lecturing him as if he were an untaught village lout. “You’ll not find the Horn or Manetheren. The city was destroyed during the Trolloc Wars, when the last queen drew too much of the One Power to destroy the Dreadlords who had killed her husband.” Moiraine had told him the names of that king and queen, but he did not remember them.

“Not in Manetheren, farmboy,” she said calmly, “though a land such as that would make a good hiding place. But there were other nations, other cities, in the Mountains of Mist, so old that not even Aes Sedai remember them. And think of all those stories about it being bad luck to enter the mountains. What better place for the Horn to be hidden than in one of those forgotten cities.”

“I have heard stories of something being hidden in the mountains.” Would she believe him? He had never been good at lying. “The stories did not say what, but it’s supposed to be the greatest treasure in the world, so maybe it is the Horn. But the Mountains of Mist stretch for hundreds of leagues. If you are going to find it, you should not waste time following us. You’ll need it all to find the Horn before Orban and Gann.”

“I told you, those two have some strange idea the Horn is hidden in the Darkwood.” She smiled up at him. Her mouth was not too big at all, when she smiled. “And I told you a Hunter has to follow strange trails. You are lucky Orban and Gann were injured fighting all those Aielmen, or they might well be aboard, too. At least I will not get in your way, or try to take over, or pick a fight with the Warder.”

He growled disgustedly. “We are just travellers on our way to Illian, girl. What is your name? If I have to share this ship with you for days yet, I can’t keep calling you girl.”

“I call myself Mandarb.” He could not stop the guffaw that burst out of him. Those tilted eyes regarded him with heat. “I will teach you something, farmboy.” Her voice remained level. Barely. “In the Old Tongue, Mandarb means ‘blade.’ It is a name worthy of a Hunter of the Horn!”

He managed to get his laughter under control, and hardly wheezed at all as he pointed to the rope pen between the masts. “You see that black stallion? His name is Mandarb.”

The heat went out of her eyes, and spots of colour bloomed on her cheeks. “Oh. I was born Zarine Bashere, but Zarine is no name for a Hunter. In the stories, Hunters have names like Rogosh Eagle-Eye.”

She looked so crestfallen that he hastened to say, “I like the name Zarine. It suits you.” The heat flashed back into her eyes, and for a moment he thought she was about to produce one of her knives again. “It is late, Zarine. I want some sleep.”

He turned his back to start for the hatch that led belowdeck, prickles running across his shoulders. Crewmen still padded up the deck and back, working the sweeps.  _ Fool. A girl would not stick a knife in me. Not with all these people watching. Would she? _ Just as he reached the hatch, she called to him.

“Farmboy! Perhaps I will call myself Faile. My father used to call me that, when I was little. I means ‘falcon’. ”

He stiffened and almost missed the first step of the ladder.  _ Coincidence _ . He made himself go down without looking back toward her.  _ It has to be _ . The passageway was dark, but enough light filtered down behind him for him to make his way. Someone was snoring loudly in one of the cabins.

“Min, why did you have to go seeing things?” he muttered.

“She has had more viewings then? I shall have to speak to her about that.” Perrin had been so distracted by Zarine that he hadn’t realised Moiraine was there. He sighed. He hadn’t meant to get Min in trouble with the Aes Sedai.

“She doesn’t like to talk about the things she sees,” he said.

Moiraine showed no sign of caring what Min liked or didn’t like. She raised an eyebrow at him coolly. “Why did you free the Aiel?”

“It just wasn’t right to leave him in the cage.”

“Wasn’t it? What did—and do—you know of what he has done? Honestly. You are all like a herd of geese sometimes. Rand alone would be difficult enough to deal with; I do not need you acting up as well.”

“I don’t think he attacked Orban. It was the other way around.”

She shook her head. “Geese might have been too flattering a description. It is late. If there is nothing else, Perrin?”

He started for the door to the cabin he’d be sharing with Hurin, then stopped. “There is one thing. If you knew a woman’s name was Zarine, would you think it meant anything about her?”

“Why under the Light do you ask this question?”

“A girl,” he said awkwardly. “A young woman. I met her just now. She’s one of the other passengers.” He would let her discover for herself that Zarine knew she was Aes Sedai. And seemed to think following them would lead her to the Horn of Valere. He would not keep back anything he thought was important, but if Moiraine could be secretive, so could he.

“Zarine. It is a Saldaean name. No woman would name her daughter that unless she expected her to be a great beauty. And a heartbreaker. One to lie on cushions in palaces, surrounded by servants and suitors.” She smiled, briefly but with great amusement. “Perhaps you have another reason to be careful, Perrin, if there is a Zarine as a passenger with us.”

“I intend to be careful,” he told her. At least he knew why Zarine did not like her name. Hardly fitting for a Hunter of the Horn.  _ As long as she doesn’t call herself “falcon”. _

He suddenly knew he would not be able to sleep. When he returned to the deck Lan was there, looking over Mandarb. And Zarine was sitting on a coil of rope near the railing, sharpening one of her knives and watching him. The big, triangular sails were set and taut, and the  _ Snow Goose _ flew downriver.

Zarine’s eyes followed Perrin as he walked by her to stand in the bow. The water curled to either side of the prow like earth turning around a good plough. He wondered about dreams and Aielmen, Min’s viewings and falcons. Life had never been as tangled as this.


	11. What Might Have Been

CHAPTER 8: What Might Have Been

It was a dark and moonless night but that didn’t mean the ship was silent. Far from it. Rand watched Zarine stalk Perrin across the deck and wondered at her intentions. He didn’t trust the Hunter, recalling all too well his own misadventures with Morrigan and Leliana, but Perrin was a grown man, and Rand could hardly presume to lecture him about such things.

“She’s too forward,” muttered Anna at his side. “She hardly knows us but doesn’t hesitate to run her mouth off. Did you hear her calling Lan ‘stone-face’?”

“I did. Couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened to a boy her age that got so cocky with him,” Rand responded with a smirk. Nothing good, was the conclusion he had come to. They’d been on the river for a day so far and Zarine had been making her presence felt.

“And now she wants everyone to call her ‘Faile’ instead of Zarine,” Anna scoffed.

“Personally I’d like to be known as ‘Magnificence al’Wonder of House Awesomeness’, but since Rand is the name I was given I’ll just have to stick with it.”

Anna snickered. “She’s a fool. I don’t like her.”

He made a noncommittal noise. His first impression of Zarine wasn’t favourable either but he didn’t think he knew her well enough to come to a conclusion. Though in Anna’s case there might be a good reason for her to be judgemental. He considered her. The light of the ship’s lamps washed over her familiar face in waves as they swayed their way downriver, illuminating the stubborn jaw and dark-eyed scowl, before leaving her in shadow. “Jealous?” he said quietly.

She crossed her arms, whether defensively or defiantly he couldn’t tell. Either way she took her time before responding. He waited patiently.

“Not exactly,” she said at last. “Things between Perrin and I didn’t go the way I thought they might. And I guess it was foolish to think that might have changed with time. Especially not after ...” she paused, looking around them nervously.

“I know what you mean,” he said.

“Well just because I don’t like her doesn’t mean I’m jealous,” she said gruffly. “It doesn’t. Besides, she doesn’t know him half as well as I do. I bet she’d be shocked if she knew the things, ah ...” She lowered her voice and leaned closer. “The things you two got up to back home.”

“I suspect a lot of people would be,” Rand whispered. He trusted Anna to be discreet, but such things carried a certain stigma and it was best not to speak of them openly.

“W-when did it start? You never said. You never said for years in fact.”

“Not here, Anna.”

“Okay, sorry.”

“Let’s go to my cabin,” Rand said quietly.

The words lingered for a moment, and there was an audible gulp before Anna responded. “I’ll, ah ... I’ll follow in a minute.”

Rand left her by the railing and picked his way carefully across the deck. He didn’t find it hard to shift his balance with the movement of the ship but it still required concentration. The more experienced sailors seemed to do it as naturally as breathing.

The  _ Snow Goose _ was a large ship and the passenger cabins were kept separate from the crew’s quarters but there was still a pair of Shienarans lurking near the entrance to the cabins. Rikimaru and Ayame tonight.

Rikimaru caught Rand’s eye as he approached. “If you’ll forgive my presumption, my Lord, you might consider advising your friend that Saldaean women are not to be trifled with. No women are, but especially not those ones.”

“They pride themselves on it,” Ayame added. “Politeness is a long way from being a virtue to them.”

Ayame could have a bit of a sharp tongue himself, especially by Shienaran standards, but Rand refrained from pointing that out.

“That is one hornet’s nest I have no intention of sticking my nose in,” Rand said dryly. “I guess Perrin will just have to get stung.”

He passed into the narrow corridor between the cabins, and went to his cramped room. The bed and the washstand took up most of the space and his possessions took up what little remained.

He’d just finished washing with the tepid water when the door opened and Anna let herself in without knocking.

“Hey,” she said, smiling with uncharacteristic shyness.

He smiled back. “Hey there. Good to see you, as always.”

She snorted. “Stop trying to be so silver-tongued. It doesn’t suit you. Besides, if it was so good to see me you would have said something years ago.”

“Maybe I was worried you’d reject me,” he said slowly. “Or that I’d ruin our friendship.”  _ Maybe having at least one intimate relationship that didn’t involve sex was strangely alluring and I liked the difference of it. But that’s gone now _ . Not that he minded, ultimately. What had replaced it was nice, too.

“Do you think you did?”

It took barely half a step to reach her in the cabin. He had to bend low to find her lips with his and was glad when she wrapped her arms around his neck, accepting his kiss.

“I don’t think that at all,” he murmured when he was done. She chewed on her lower lip, her eyes sparkling in the lamplight.

He took her hands in his and led her towards the bed. Anna let herself be led but curiosity was obviously still pricking her because she said, “You still haven’t told me what was going on right under my nose all those years.”

“You really want to know?”

“I kind of do. We were friends for so long, but you had all these secrets from me.”

“Well everyone has secrets,” he said defensively, thinking of all the secrets he still held. There were relationships even more taboo than what passed between him and Perrin. He couldn’t tell her, or anyone, about that. He sat on the bed and pulled her down onto his lap. “This is a secret, isn’t it? I get the impression you don’t want anyone to know about us.”

She looked suddenly uncomfortable, and not at the improper seating arrangement. “Well it’s no-one’s business but ours. It’s not like I’m ashamed of what we do or anything.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want my ‘sister’ come lover to be ashamed,” he drawled before stealing another kiss.

Anna blushed. “Well then don’t say it like that! Light, Rand.”

He laughed, kissed her again and began undoing her clothes.

Anna was happy to let him rid her of her coat and shirt, kissing him all the while. It wasn’t until he took her modest breasts in his hands and gave them a firm squeeze that she began tugging at his own clothes.

Soon her bare chest was pressed to his, her smooth skin rubbing against him. He could feel her heart racing. Rand slid his hand down the front of her trousers and found her slit. Her hot and wet slit. When he slid a finger inside she clutched him tightly, trying and failing to stifle a cry.

“I want you,” he husked.

Anna rose from his lap long enough to push her trousers down, affording Rand a fine view of her muscular back and pretty bottom. She glanced over, saw him watching, and dimpled a smile. “Then take me,” she whispered.

Rand needed no further invitation. In moments he had Anna on her back on his bed, his remaining clothes discarded on the floor, and his now rock-hard cock positioned between her strong and invitingly spread legs.

She watched him enter her, and Rand savoured her shifting expressions almost as much as her sex’s glorious embrace. He made himself go slowly, listening to her shuddering breaths. Only when he was fully hilted inside her did Anna raise her eyes to his. They were brown and usually held a stern seriousness, but tonight they were wide and vulnerable. He brushed her hair away from her eyes and kissed her once more, long and deep.

“I’ve been missing out,” he murmured. “You are a wonder.”

“When I think of all the years that went by before Stedding Tosfu ... How many times you could have visited me on the farm growing up, and ... and ...”

A sharp movement of his hips, a sweet yelp. “And this?”

“Yes ...” she moaned.

“That would have been sweet.”

Anna explored his body with her eyes as well as her hands, her gaze going hazy with lust and lustful imaginings. “You were young when you started, weren’t you?”

_ Younger than I’ll ever say _ . “Yes.”

“When?”

He bent to kiss the side of her neck, as much to hide his face as to whisper in her ear. “Perrin, Mat and I went on a camping trip to the Mountains of Mist when we were twelve. It was cold and we shared a tent. And blankets. And then, in the deep of night ... things happened.”

She squeezed his bottom as he moved inside her. “I remember that. I thought camping sounded fun but you never invited me.”

“I’m sorry. We weren’t children anymore and you’d started looking, ah, notably female. It didn’t seem right to ask you along. It felt like I would be insulting you or something.”

“Probably for the best, in hindsight,” she breathed. “Things would have gotten a bit awkward once you all started doing whatever you did. I’d have had to go sleep outside.”

“Only if you wanted to.”

“Well I would have been in the way, wouldn’t I?” she said leadingly.

Rand wrapped her in his arms and sped up his thrusts. “Not even a little. We’d all have wanted a taste of this sweet little pussy of yours.”

Anna groaned and her sex clamped around him, but no further words did she let pass her lips.

He seized  _ saidin _ just long enough to extinguish the lamp, plunging them into darkness. A sheltering darkness, fit for whispered secrets.

“I’d have begun it, if I saw any hint that you wanted it,” he whispered. “Anything you wanted I would try to give you. Surprise wouldn’t have stopped me, but a simple no would have, there in the dark. I’d have touched you while the others slept beside us. Made love to you until the sounds you let out woke someone.”

Anna clutched at him, her heart pounding against his chest. He kept moving, and kept talking.

“Mat woke first, confused but already erect. He’d been erect for some time, poking people with his cock as he tossed in his sleep. Confusion and reluctance don’t last long for him. It feels good and that’s all that matters. You offer it, lying on your side. He takes, instinctually looking for a hole to poke and finding a tight little one.” Rand slid his hand down Anna’s back and over her hips, fondling her soft cheeks briefly as he sought out her other hole. When he found it, he slipped a finger inside and felt her come.

She tried to stop the moans from escaping her but he heard them clearly and grinned in the dark. It would be the first of many times that night, he silently vowed.

“He’d fuck you fast. Eager and tactless. Lost in the wonder of experimentation, balls slapping against you, his long, hard cock reaching deep inside.” Rand’s finger moved in and out of Anna’s butt. “He wouldn’t last long though. It’s too new, too exciting. Soon he’d be coming inside your bum and the noises he makes would wake Perrin.”

She gasped. Rand continued relentlessly. “There you are, a butt full of cock and come, and he’s staring. What do you say? How do you explain?” Her whimpers were his only response. “If it felt good you could tell him so. He might understand. But he’d be shocked, confused. More so than Mat. And reluctant too. There’d be recriminations, condemnations. He’d be very worried about what people would think. But he’s seen you naked and his body betrays him. You can tell, but someone needs to make the first move, someone needs to make an offer. Are you that someone?” Mat had been. Anna’s gasps were his only answer but they seemed to urge him on as his cock and fingers thrust steadily into her. “If you offered it up to him he wouldn’t be able to resist. He’d take you on your belly, spreading your cheeks and pounding away at you until he’d had his fill. Do you think you would have liked that?”

“Yes,” said Anna, so softly he barely heard. The word seemed to have special meaning to her for he felt her fluttering around his cock once more.

He held her in his arms as her breathing steadied. Eventually she let out a long gasp. “What would the Women’s Circle say if I ever did a thing like that?”

“If they ever knew you’d done a thing like that they’d say nothing nice about it. But do you think they’d have ever found out?”

She snorted a laugh. “Apparently not. You’re better at keeping secrets than I ever would have imagined, al’Thor.”

He kissed her cheek. “And you’re a little bit glad of that, al’Tolan.”

“A little.”

“We really weren’t trying to leave you out,” he said apologetically.

She hugged him, a sweet, friendly gesture that wasn’t made at all absurd by the fact that his cock was still lodged deep inside her. “I know that. I don’t hold it against you.”

“But you wonder how things might have gone.”

“Yes.”

He began moving inside her again. “You’d have been our friend. On the surface nothing would have changed, but when no-one else was around we’d find opportunities to experiment again. We’d play games of a very different sort than the usual ones. You’d have found yourself in the Waterwood, swimming naked. And not alone. Warm bodies and cold water teasing your flesh. Haylofts and stables would have become more than just places that livestock and tools are stored. They’re good places to keep a watch from while your trousers are around your ankles. You might even have found others intrigued enough to want to have a go on you.”

“Who?” she gasped. “Who else joined the games?”

“I only said ‘might have’?” Rand pointed out. Discretion. Always.

Anna was grinding up against him openly now. “Yes, but, but who?” she insisted.

Rand chuckled. He drew back long enough to pull his cock out of her—and was more than pleased by the disappointed sound she made at the removal—before taking her by the hips and flipping her over. “That pretty butt of yours? Who wouldn’t want a piece of that?”

She let out a relieved sigh when he mounted her again, her sopping wet pussy welcoming him back like an old friend. He wondered if there were any other old friends she’d had secret, forbidden thoughts about.

“Dav’s nearly as bad as Mat,” Rand whispered in Anna’s ear as he resumed fucking her. “He’d be very eager. As soon as you offered he’d jump on you and start pounding away.” Rand did just that as Anna whimpered beneath him. “Oh, yes. Bent over the bed with your ass on display? You knew he wouldn’t have been able to resist. Best be quick though. His parents will be home soon. And his sisters are notorious gossips.” The Ayellins were cousins of the al’Veres. Dav was a good sort but Rand had always been careful of what he said in front of the girls. Anything they heard, Egwene would have heard within the hour. “How would you go about speeding him on?” In response, Anna began rocking her hips back against him, stroking his cock with her pussy.

“Oh, that’ll do it. That’s real nice. And where Dav goes, Elam isn’t likely to be far behind. Do you like Elam? He likes girls, he’s never done talking about them.” He fondled Anna’s breasts roughly as he spoke, the soft flesh and the hard nipples both. “He’d like you.” That might or might not be true. Elam definitely liked girls but he’d never said anything of that sort about Anna. So far as Rand knew anyway. “He might be even more eager than Dav. He’d take you on your hands and knees on the stable floor while everyone else watched and waited for their turn. Would you let him? Would you let them?”

She didn’t answer, and he hadn’t really expected her to.

“Lem and Ban would never want to leave the other one out, so if one went back, the other would have to go front. He’d fish his hard cock out of his breeches and dangle it before your face, looking at you imploringly. What would you do? Would you suck him off, while his friend fucked your ass?” He abandoned one of her breasts and brought his fingers to her lips, brushing lightly across them, waiting. When Anna took his finger in her mouth and began sucking, he couldn’t help but groan.

Rand pulled himself out of her pussy once more. He searched for and quickly found her asshole, then thrust forward. Slick with her juices, he slid easily inside. Her tight passage squeezed every inch of him and sent shivers down his spine. Anna gave a muffled cry around his finger, but it was not in protest at the intrusion. From the shuddering way the cry went on, he suspected she had come again. He didn’t let up, just kept fucking her.

“They’d like watching you,” he whispered. “They’d like seeing how much you liked it. ‘Look at her go,’ they’d say. ‘She was born to take a cock.’

“Dannil Lewin and Jaim Torfinn might want in on it, too. Jaim would want to be in charge, but Dannil’s nicer. Shy even. You’d have to take the lead with him. Could you do that? Ride him while all those eyes were on you?

“What about Wil al’Seen? He’s a handsome one, did you want him?” Wil always seemed to get a lot of attention from the girls. It would make sense for Anna to have been sneaking a peek, too.

That, of all things, was what restored Anna’s power of speech. “Light, no!” she gasped after pushing his finger out of her mouth. “Have you met Wil? Eww.”

Rand laughed, raining kisses on Anna’s shoulders as he rode her ass. He’d never really cared for Wil al’Seen himself and was glad she shared his distaste.

“Tod’s as handsome. But nicer,” he murmured.

“Tod Aydaer, from the next farm over?” she gasped. The Aydaers were Rand’s other neighbours and Tod was their only son. A lean and serious youth just a little older than he and Anna, Tod wanted to be a musician. He liked to fiddle but not to flute.

Rand paused. “That’s the one. Did you like him then?”

“He’s alright,” Anna breathed. “Bit stiff, but I’m sure people say the same about me.”

He hilted inside her and resumed his steady pace. “Only the ones who don’t know you like I do,” he drawled and she whimpered loudly before burying her face in the pillow. He leaned down to whisper to her. “You’d need to flirt with Tod a bit to get his attention, and even then he’d have a list of reasons not to do it. But with the idea planted in his head and so little else to do around the farm. Well I don’t need to tell you how boring it can get out in the Westwood. Eventually he’d come around to the idea and seek you out. And there you’d be, up against a tree, cold air raising goosebumps on your skin, and a hot cock pounding into your body. Rough bark, soft skin. Would you come for him? He’d laugh if you did, and tease you for it.” He reached around and found Anna’s now sopping wet pussy and her engorged nub. He rubbed it furiously and between that and the cock lodged in her ass it wasn’t long before she was screaming into his pillow.

“Look at that. Dirty girl. Have you no shame?” he breathed.

“Shut up, Tod,” she mumbled and he chuckled in response.

“You know, who’s to say some other girl wouldn’t have gotten involved as well,” he whispered. “What would you have thought of that?”

“I don’t ... I don’t know. What girls?”

“Who can say for sure? What if it was Egwene, can you picture it? There you are, getting ridden hard from behind, and there’s Egwene, spread legged on the bed in front of you, her wet pussy inches from your face. Would you lick her?”

“I-I I‘d rather ... What it if was s-someone else?”

“Hmm. Bode Cauthon? She’s friendly.”

“I wouldn’t mind Bode so much,” Anna gasped.

“Or maybe Loise,” Rand whispered. “She’s always liked you, you know?”

“I like her too. I’d do it for her,” said Anna. Once more he put his hand to her mouth. Knowing the game now, Anna was quick to lick his branded palm.

“Naughty girl,” he teased. “Look at you, with a face full of pussy.”

“Shut up, Rand,” she mumbled to his delight, but he kept licking.

Despite all that he’d done so far, Rand hadn’t really felt close to coming. As pleasurable as her body was, he’d been more focused on teasing Anna and bringing her to climax than on seeking his own. But such distractions could only delay him so long and the way her ass kept pulling at him, as though pleading for his come, was bringing him close to the brink.

“You get along well with Tief, don’t you?” He didn’t need her nod to know it was true. Tief got along with most people, even if he never really got close to them. “I bet you would have wanted him to get involved. But would he? Rejection hurts, perhaps even more when it’s so politely given. It’s the disappointment. That look that says they’d thought better of you.”

Anna found his hand, the hand that still clutched at her breast. “Rand? Are you okay?”

He blinked. No. That wasn’t ... that wasn’t what he should have said.

“Yes,” he said, and made his voice light. “The games, Anna. You’d have been welcome to join us, never doubt it.” He rode her hard then, and worked her breast and pussy with his hands as he did so. The sheet she lay upon was already soaked but he wanted to soak it some more before he finished. “They’d all have wanted you there,” he continued, fingering her hard. “They’d all have wanted a taste of you, but so many cocks and so few holes. You make a sweet filling for a sandwich I know, but what about all those other boys, crowding around, watching you take it front and back? Would you take pity on one of them it he pushed his hard, excited cock towards your lips? Would you suck it as the others watched? And your hands, you could use those too. Think of it. Hard young cocks all around you, being pleasured by you, and soon, coming in you. In your pussy and your ass, in your mouth, on your body and even on your face. Can you imagine the embarrassment, the excitement?”

From her whimpering moans and the way she was grinding her hips he suspected she could imagine it just fine. He kept right on pounding her with his cock and fingers both.

“And you’d have been more than welcome to visit me. If I’d gotten a taste of this back then I wouldn’t have been able to keep my hands off you. It would have been so easy for us to arrange to meet each other out in the woods. You know the spots as well as I do.”

“That little dell, out beyond the western pasture,” she said between gasping breaths.

“Lovely place. And so quiet. We could have made a camp there and stayed as long as we dared. And done as much as we wanted.” She murmured wordless agreement. “Then there’s that big rock to the north. The one with the natural ledge on its far side. It’s a great spot to watch for wolves from, when the sheep are grazing.”

“I know the one.”

“If you were standing on it I bet you’d be just the right height for me to kiss you down there. But no-one from down our way would be able to see me.”

“I’d return the favour,” she gasped.

“You would?”

“You can’t see your house from behind the barn. If I approached from the east Tam wouldn’t be able to see. I’d have sneaked over to visit you and waited for you to go to the barn. Then I’d catch you and press you up against the wall in the shade and kneel down to suck you. There wouldn’t even have been a mess if I drank it all.”

“You would have done that for me?”

“Light, yes,” she groaned.

He sped up, riding her as hard as he could now. “Light. Yes!” she repeated and he felt warm fluids gushing out of her over his hand. It was too much. Rand shoved his cock all the way inside Anna, his balls pressing up against her, and came hard, spraying jet after jet of come up her backside. The spasmodic, jerking motion of the orgasmic girl milked him of every last drop and left him lying bonelessly atop her, his breath shuddering out of him.

Anna was a tough woman but much smaller than Rand. Nevertheless she let him lie like that for what seemed a long time before stirring herself. He rolled off her at her wordless urging, his softening cock slipping out of her body, and lay on his side, hard against the wooden wall of the cabin. The bed was very narrow but he wouldn’t have minded if she wanted to stay the night.

She stretched herself, and for once he was jealous of her shorter frame. “I should go to my own bed,” she mumbled.

“You don’t have to.”

“No. It would be for the best.” She giggled suddenly. “Burn me, Rand. Burn me. You ... Well, you’re something else.”

“Uh, thanks? I hope.”

Soft, incredulous laughter was his only response. For all her talk, Anna didn’t seem in any great rush to leave. Rand had no objections to that. As small as she was, her whole body fit neatly into his embrace when he cuddled against her. He would have been happy to lie like that forever.

After a time, Anna’s uncharacteristically timid voice sounded in the darkness. “Rand? Did any of that stuff actually happen?”

Rand smiled to himself. “Anna, I’m hurt,” he teased. “You know I never kiss and tell.”


	12. A Hunter's Oath

CHAPTER 9: A Hunter’s Oath

Perrin stood at the prow as the  _ Snow Goose _ moved toward the docks, sails furled and propelled by its sweeps. Captain Adarra said something softly behind him, the tiller creaked, and the  _ Snow Goose _ changed its course a trifle. Barefoot men at the sweeps moved as if not wanting to make a sound. Perrin did not glance at them beyond a flicker of his eye.

Leaning on the rail, he watched the walled town of Aringill come closer as the sweeps worked the  _ Snow Goose _ in toward the long, tarred-timber docks. Protected by high stone wing-walls that thrust out into the river, those docks swarmed with people, and more were leaving the ships of various sizes that lay tied all along them. Soldiers in red coats and shiny breastplates with wooden cudgels in hand and steel swords at their waists kept order.

Perrin turned and shaded his eyes to peer at the river they were leaving. The Erinin was busier than any river he had ever seen, with nearly a dozen vessels under way in sight, ranging from a long, sharp-prowed splinter darting upriver against the current, pushed by two triangular sails, to a wide, bluff-bowed ship with square sails, still wallowing along well to the north. There were noisy river birds everywhere he looked.

It was not that he had any real interest in ships, or even very much in the birds—though some of them looked good to eat unless he watched himself—but anything at all was better than watching the scene behind him on the deck of the  _ Snow Goose _ . The axe at his belt was no defence against that.  _ A stone wall wouldn’t be defence enough _ , he thought.

Moiraine had been neither pleased nor displeased to discover that Zarine— _ I’ll not call her Faile, whatever she wants to name herself! She is no falcon! _ —knew she was Aes Sedai, though she had been perhaps a little upset with him for not telling her.  _ A little upset. She called me a fool _ , but that was all. Then. Moiraine did not seem to care one way or another about Zarine being a Hunter of the Horn. But once she learned the girl thought they would lead her to the Horn of Valere, once she learned he had known that, too, and not told her—Zarine had been more than forthcoming about both subjects with Moiraine, to his mind—then her cold dark stare had taken on a quality that made him feel as if he had been packed in a barrel of snow in the dead of winter. The Aes Sedai said nothing, but she stared too often and too hard for any comfort.

He looked over his shoulder and quickly returned to studying the shoreline. Zarine was sitting cross-legged on the deck, her bundle and dark cloak beside her, her narrow, divided skirts neatly arrayed, pretending to study the rooftops and towers of the oncoming city. Moiraine was studying Aringill, too, from just ahead of the men working the sweeps, but now and then she shot a hard look at the girl from under the deep hood of her fine grey wool cloak.

Zarine met each Aes Sedai look with a smile, but every time Moiraine turned away, she swallowed and wiped her forehead.

Perrin rather admired her for managing that smile when Moiraine was watching. It was a good deal more than he could do. He had never seen the Aes Sedai truly lose her temper, but he himself was at the point of wishing she would shout, or rage, or anything but stare at him.  _ Light, maybe not anything!  _ Maybe the stare was bearable.

Lan sat further toward the bow than Moiraine—his colour-shifting cloak was still in the saddlebags at his feet—outwardly absorbed in examining his sword blade, but making little effort to hide his amusement. Sometimes his lips appeared to quirk very close to a smile. Perrin was not certain; at times he thought it was only a shadow. Shadows could make a hammer seem to smile. Each woman obviously thought she was the object of that amusement, but the Warder did not appear to mind the tight-lipped frowns he received from both of them.

A few days earlier Perrin had heard Moiraine ask Lan, in a voice like ice, whether he saw something to laugh at. “I would never laugh at you, Moiraine Sedai,” he had replied calmly, “but if you truly intend to send me to Myrelle, I must become used to smiling. I hear that Myrelle tells her Warders jokes. Gaidin must smile at their bond holder’s quips; you have often given me quips to laugh at, have you not? Perhaps you would rather I stay with you after all.” She had given him a look that would have nailed any other man to the mast, but the Warder never blinked. Lan made cold steel seem like tin.

The crew had taken to padding about their work in utter silence when Moiraine and Zarine were on deck together. Captain Adarra held her head tilted, and looked as if she were listening for something she did not want to hear. She passed her orders in whispers, instead of the shouts she had used at first. Everyone knew Moiraine was Aes Sedai, now, and everyone knew she was displeased. Perrin had let himself get into one shouting match with Zarine, and he was not sure which of them had said the words “Aes Sedai,” but the whole crew knew.  _ Bloody woman! _ He was uncertain whether he meant Moiraine or Zarine.  _ If she is the falcon, what is the hawk supposed to be? Am I going to be stuck with two women like her? Light! No! She is not a falcon, and that is an end to it! _ The only good thing he could find in all this was that with an angry Aes Sedai to worry about, none of the crew looked twice at his eyes.

Loial was nowhere in sight, at the moment. The Ogier stayed in his stifling cabin whenever Moiraine and Zarine were topside together—working on his notes, he said. He only came on deck a night, to smoke his pipe. Perrin did not see how he could take the confinement; even Moiraine and Zarine were better than being belowdecks.

He sighed and kept his eyes on Aringill. The city the ship was approaching was large—if not so big as Cairhien or Caemlyn, the only two great cities he had ever seen—perhaps large enough to keep wolves at bay. The  _ Snow Goose _ had outrun the wolves that had followed him from the Black Hills. He reached out for them gingerly, now, and felt—nothing. A curiously empty feeling, given that it was what he wanted. His dreams had been his own lately. Moiraine had asked about them in a cold voice, and he had told the truth. Twice he had found himself in that odd sort of wolf dream, and both times Hopper had appeared, chasing him away, telling him he was too young yet, too new. What Moiraine made of that, he had no idea; she told him nothing, except to say he had best be wary.

“That’s as well by me,” he growled. He was almost becoming used to Hopper being dead but not dead, in the wolf dreams, at least. Behind him, he heard Captain Adarra scuff her boots on the deck and mutter something, startled that anyone would speak aloud.

Lines were hurled ashore from the ship. While they were still being made fast to wooden posts along the docks, the slightly built captain leaped into motion, whispering fiercely to her crew. She had booms rigged to lift the horses onto the wharf almost as quickly as the gangplank was laid in place. Lan’s black war horse kicked and nearly broke the boom hoisting him. Loial’s huge, hairy-fetlocked mount needed two.

“An honour,” Adarra whispered to Moiraine with a bow as she stepped onto the wide plank leading to the dock. “An honour to have served you, Aes Sedai.” She strode ashore without looking at her, her face hidden in her deep hood.

Rand spared the Aes Sedai a scornful look and took his time about following. When he finally did step down onto the dock he was quickly surrounded by his entourage. That was the becoming all too normal. It was getting to the point that Perrin found it hard to speak to him.

Loial did not appear until everyone else, and the horses, had disembarked. The Ogier came thumping up the gangplank trying to don his long coat while carrying his big saddlebags and striped blanketroll, and his cloak over one arm. “I did not know we had arrived,” he rumbled breathlessly. “I was rereading my ...” He trailed off with a glance at Moiraine. She appeared to be absorbed in watching Lan saddle Aldieb, but the Ogier’s ears flickered like a nervous cat’s.

_ His notes _ , Perrin thought.  _ One of these days I have to see what he is saying about all this _ .

Perrin’s mind reached out to feel for wolves before he realized what he was doing and snapped his guards shut. He had done that too often of late. There had been no wolves, of course. Not in a city like this. He wished it did not feel so—alone.

Something tickled the back of his neck, and he jumped a foot before he realized he was smelling a clean, herbal scent through the spices and tar and stinks of the docks.

Zarine wiggled her fingers, smiling at them. “If I can do that with just a brush of my fingers farmboy, I wonder how high you would jump if I—?”

He was growing a little tired of considering looks from those dark, tilted eyes.  _ She may be pretty, but she looks at me the way I’d look at a tool I’d never seen before, trying to puzzle out how it was made, and what it is supposed to be used for _ .

“Zarine.” Moiraine’s voice was cool but unruffled.

“I am called Faile,” Zarine said firmly, and for a moment, with her bold nose, she did look like a falcon.

“Zarine,” Moiraine said firmly, “it is time for our ways to part. You will find better Hunting elsewhere, and safer.”

“I think not,” Zarine said just as firmly. “A Hunter must follow the trail she sees, and no Hunter would ignore the trail you leave. And I am Faile.” She spoiled it a bit by swallowing, but she did not blink as she met Moiraine’s eyes.

“Are you certain?” Moiraine said softly. “Are you sure you will not change your mind ... Falcon?”

“I will not. There is nothing you or your stone-faced Warder can do to stop me.” Zarine hesitated, then added slowly, as if she had decided to be entirely truthful, “At least, there is nothing that you will do that can stop me. I know a little of Aes Sedai; I know, for all the stories, that there are things you will not do. And I do not believe stone-face would do what he must to make me give over.”

“Are you sure enough of that to risk it?” Lan spoke quietly, and his face did not change, but Zarine swallowed again.

“There is no need to threaten her, Lan,” Perrin said. He was surprised to realize he was glaring at the Warder.

Moiraine’s glance silenced him and the Warder both. “You believe you know what an Aes Sedai will not do, do you?” she said more softly than before. Her smile was not pleasant. “If you wish to go with us, this is what you must do.” Lan’s eyelids flickered in surprise; the two women stared at each other like falcon and mouse, but Zarine was not the falcon, now. “You will swear by your Hunter’s oath to do as I say, to heed me, and not to leave us. Once you know more than you should of what we do, I will not allow you to fall into the wrong hands. Know that for truth, girl. You will swear to act as one of us, and do nothing that will endanger our purpose. You will ask no questions of where we go or why: you will be satisfied with what I choose to tell you. All of this you will swear, or you will remain here in Aringill. And you will not leave this place until I return to release you, if it takes the rest of your life. That I swear.”

Zarine turned her head uneasily, watching Moiraine out of one eye. “I may accompany you if I swear?” The Aes Sedai nodded. “I will be one of you, the same as Loial or stone-face. But I can ask no questions. Are they allowed to ask questions?” Moiraine’s face lost a little of its patience. Zarine stood up straighter and held her head high. “Very well, then. I swear, by the oath I took as a Hunter. If I break one, I will have broken both. I swear it!”

“Done,” Moiraine said, touching the younger woman’s forehead; Zarine shivered. “Since you brought her to us, Perrin, she is your responsibility.”

“Mine!” he yelped.

“I am no one’s responsibility but my own!” Zarine nearly shouted.

The Aes Sedai went serenely on as if they had never opened their mouths. “It seems you have found Min’s falcon,  _ ta’veren _ . I have tried to discourage her, but it appears she will perch on your shoulder whatever I do. The Pattern weaves a future for you, it seems. Yet remember this. If I must, I will snip your thread from the Pattern. And if the girl endangers what must be, you will share her fate.”

“I did not ask for her to come along!” Perrin protested. Moiraine calmly mounted Aldieb adjusting her cloak over the white mare’s saddle. “I did not ask for her!” Loial shrugged at him and silently mouthed something. No doubt a saying about the dangers of angering Aes Sedai.

“You are  _ ta’veren _ ?” Zarine said disbelievingly. Her gaze ran over his sturdy country clothes and settled on his yellow eyes. “Well, perhaps. Whatever you are, she threatens you as easily as she does me.” She glanced towards the end of the dock, where Min was speaking to Rand and Hurin was riding off on some errand Rand had set him. “What does Min know of me? What does she mean, I will perch on your shoulder?” Her face tightened. “If you try making me your responsibility, I will carve your ears. Do you hear me?”

Grimacing, he slipped his unstrung bow under the saddle girths along Stepper’s flank, and climbed into the saddle. Restive after days on the ship, the dun lived up to his name until Perrin calmed him with a firm hand on the reins and pats to his neck.

“None of that deserves an answer,” he growled.  _ Min bloody told her! Burn you, Min! Burn you, too, Moiraine! And Zarine! _ He could never remember Rand or Mat being bullied by women on every side. Or himself, before leaving Emond’s Field. Nynaeve had been the only one. And Mistress Luhhan, of course; she ran him and Master Weyland both, everywhere but in the smithy. And Egwene had had a way about her, though mostly with Rand. Mistress al’Vere, Egwene’s mother, always had a smile, but things seemed to end up being done as she wanted, too. And the Women’s Circle had looked over everybody’s shoulder.

Grumbling to himself, he reached down and took Zarine by an arm; she gave a squawk and nearly dropped her bundle as he hoisted her up behind his saddle. Those divided skirts of hers made it easy for her to straddle Stepper. “I’ll ask Rand to give you one of the pack horses,” he muttered. “You cannot walk the whole way.”

“You are strong, blacksmith,” Zarine said, rubbing her arm, “but I am not a piece of iron.” She shifted around, stuffing her bundle and her cloak between them. “I can buy my own horse, if I need one. The whole way where?”

Lan was already riding off the dock into the city, with Moiraine and Loial behind him. The Ogier looked back at Perrin.

“No questions, remember? And my name is Perrin, Zarine. Not ‘big man,’ or ‘blacksmith,’ or anything else. Perrin. Perrin Aybara.”

“And mine is Faile, shaggy-hair.”

With something close to a snarl, he booted Stepper after the others. Zarine had to throw her arms around his waist to keep from being tossed over the dun’s crupper. He thought she was laughing.

The hubbub of the city quickly submerged Zarine’s laughter—if that was what it was—beneath all the clamour that Perrin remembered from Caemlyn and Cairhien. The sounds were different here, slower, and pitched differently, but they were the same, too. Boots and wheels and hooves on rough, uneven paving stones, cart and wagon axles squealing, music and song and laughter drifting from inns and taverns. Voices. A hum of voices like putting his head into a giant beehive. A great city, living.

From down a side street he heard the clang of hammer on anvil, and shifted his shoulders unconsciously. He missed the hammer and tongs in his hands, the white-hot metal giving off sparks as his blows shaped it. The smithy sounds faded behind, buried under the rumble of carts and wagons, and the babble of shopkeepers and people in the streets. There were a lot of soldiers on the streets, more than he had seen in Cairhien.

He must have muttered aloud because Zarine spoke into his ear. “Andor maintains a sizable garrison here. They are jealous of their river trade, and it wasn’t so long ago that Valreis made a play for a share of it and was rebuffed. They want to make sure the Winged Throne doesn’t try again. Aren’t you grateful, farmboy? I think I will end up teaching you so much, no one will notice the hay in your hair.”

Perrin held his tongue with an effort.

No one seemed to take Loial as anything much out of the ordinary. A few people looked at him twice, and some small children scampered along in their wake for a time, but it appeared that Ogier were not unknown in Aringill. The Shienarans actually drew more stares than he did.

For once, Loial did not appear pleased with the people’s acceptance. His long eyebrows drooped down on his cheeks, and his ears had wilted.

“What is the matter?” Zarine asked. “You are tensing. It is like holding on to a rock.”

Perrin ignored her and rode closer to Loial.

“Are you afraid you’ll find other Ogier here, Loial?” he asked. He felt Zarine stir against his back and cursed his tongue. He meant to let the woman know even less than Moiraine apparently meant to tell her. That way, perhaps, she would grow bored enough to leave.  _ If Moiraine will let her go, now. Burn me, I don’t want any bloody falcon perched on my shoulder, even if she is pretty _ .

Loial nodded. He spoke in a whisper not only for an Ogier, but for anyone. Even Perrin could barely hear. “Perrin, if there are Ogier here, they will make me go back to the  _ stedding _ . I should have thought of it before now. This place makes me uneasy, Perrin.” His ears shifted nervously.

Perrin moved Stepper closer and reached up to pat Loial’s shoulder. It was a long reach, above his head. Conscious of Zarine at his back, he chose his words carefully. “Loial, I do not believe Moiraine would let them take you. You have been with us a long time, and she seems to want you with us. She will not let them take you, Loial.”  _ Why not? _ he wondered suddenly.  _ She keeps me because she thinks I may be important to Rand, and maybe because she doesn’t want me telling what I know to anyone. Maybe that’s why she wants him to stay _ .

“Of course, she would not,” Loial said in a slightly stronger voice, and his ears perked up. “I am very useful, after all. She may need to travel the Ways again, and she could not without me.” Zarine shifted against Perrin’s back, and he shook his head, trying to catch Loial’s eye. But Loial was not looking. He seemed to have just heard what he had said, and the tufts on his ears had fallen a little. “I do hope it’s not that, Perrin.” The Ogier looked at the city around them, and his ears went all the way back down.

The Warder led them quickly through the streets to an inn, two stories of solid grey stone. The sign outside named it The Riverman, and showed a barefoot, shirtless fellow doing a jig. Boys seated on mounting blocks in front of the inn hopped up to take their horses. One dark-haired lad about ten asked Loial if he were an Ogier, and when Loial said he was, the boy said, “I thought you were,” with a self-satisfied nod. He led Loial’s big horse away, tossing the copper Loial had given him into the air and catching it.

The common room had sawdust on the floor, and tabac smoke filled the air. It also smelled of wine, and fish cooking in the kitchen, and a heavy, flowered perfume. The exposed beams of the high ceiling were rough-hewn and age-dark. This early in the evening, no more than a quarter of the stools and benches were filled, by men in workmen’s plain coats and vests, some with the bare feet of sailors. All of them sat clustered as close as they could manage around one table where a pretty, dark-eyed girl, the wearer of the perfume, sang to the strumming of a twelve-string bittern and danced on the tabletop with swirls of her skirt. Her loose, white blouse had an extremely low neck. Perrin recognized the tune—“The Dancing Lass”—but the words the girl sang were different from what he knew.

“A Murandy girl, she came to town, to see what she could see. With a wink of her eye, and a smile on her lip, she snagged a boy or three, or three. With an ankle slim, and skin so pale, she caught the owner of a ship, a ship. With a soft little sigh, and a gay little laugh, she made her way so free. So free.”

She launched into another verse, and when Perrin realized what she was singing, his face grew hot. He had thought nothing could shock him after seeing Tinker girls dance, but that had only hinted at things. This girl was singing them right out.

Zarine was nodding in time to the music and grinning. Her grin widened when she looked at him. “Why, farmboy, I do not think I ever knew a man your age who could still blush.”

He glared at her and barely stopped himself from saying something he knew would be stupid.

_ This bloody woman has me jumping before I can think. Light, I’ll wager she thinks I never even kissed a girl!  _ He tried not to listen to any more of what the girl was singing. If he could not get the red out of his face, Zarine was sure to make more of it.

A flash of startlement had passed across the face of the proprietress when they entered. A large, round woman with her yellow hair in a thick roll at the back of her neck and a smell of strong soap about her, she suppressed her surprise quickly, though, and hurried to Moiraine.

“Mistress Mari,” she said, “I never thought to see you here today.” She hesitated, eyeing Perrin and Zarine, glanced once at Loial, but not in the searching way she looked at them. Her eyes actually brightened at the sight of the Ogier, but her real attention was all on “Mistress Mari.” She lowered her voice, “Have my pigeons not arrived safely?” Lan, she seemed to accept as a part of Moiraine.

“I am sure they have, Nelli,” Moiraine said. “I have been away, but I am sure Adine has noted down everything you reported.” She eyed the girl singing on the table with no outward disapproval, nor any other expression. “The Riverman was considerably quieter when last I was here.”

“Aye, Mistress Mari, it was that. But the louts haven’t gotten over the winter yet, it seems. I haven’t had a fight in my place in ten years, till the tail of this winter gone.” She nodded toward the one man not sitting near the singer, a fellow even bigger than Perrin, standing against the wall with his thick arms folded, tapping his foot to the music. “Even Baerd had a hard time keeping them down, so I hired the girl to take their minds from anger. She’s from some place in Altara.” She tilted her head, listening for a moment. “A fair voice, but I sang it better— aye, and danced better, too—when I was her age.”

Perrin gaped at the thought of this huge woman capering on a table, singing that song—a bit of it came through; “I’ll wear no shift at all. At all”—until Zarine fisted him hard in the short ribs. He grunted.

Nelli looked his way. “I’ll mix you some honey and sulphur, lad, for that throat. You’ll not want to take a chill before the weather warms, not with a pretty girl like that one on your arm.”

Moiraine gave him a look that said he was interfering with her. “Strange that you should suffer fights,” she said. “I well remember how your nephew stops such. Has something occurred to make people more irritable?”

“It was that madness in Caemlyn if you ask me, spreading our way. Fool talk of breaking our alliance with Tar Valon.” The innkeeper shook her head so vigorously her chins quivered. “Well, hopefully Lord Gaebril has put an end to that nonsense.”

“Lord Gaebril? I’m not familiar with him.”

“I don’t know much of him myself,” Nelli said, “but they say he put down the riots over the winter. Queen Morgase has made him her new advisor.”

“I see. Well, we will be needing rooms and a meal. Do you have much space?”

“I’d make space for you Mistress Mari, but thankfully that won’t be needed. How many rooms do you want?”

Rand entered at that moment, flanked by Uno and Ragan, with little Saeri trailing along in his wake. In his red coat with the breastplate buckled on over it you might have taken him for one of the Andoran soldiers at first, but the way they all clustered around him made it plain he was something else.

Nelli blinked and began smoothing her apron over her round belly. “A handsome lordling. That’s a bad combination in my experience,” she muttered. “Tends to cause trouble, especially for poor girls who should know better.” The way she was eyeing Rand made him suspect she had been such a girl once.

“He will be staying here also. We will need at least eight rooms and space in the stables for the soldiers,” said Moiraine firmly.

Nelli hesitated only briefly before answering. “You’ll have whatever you desire, Mistress. Even if I have to have Baerd help folk to move.”


	13. A New Hammer

CHAPTER 10: A New Hammer

Perrin’s room was more comfortable than he expected, given the look of the rest of The Riverman. The bed was wide, the mattress soft. The door was made of tilted slats, and when he opened the windows, a breeze crossed the room carrying the smells of the harbour. He hung his cloak on a peg along with his quiver and axe, and propped his bow in the corner. Everything else he left in the saddlebags and blanketroll.

He was first back down to the common the next morning except for Loial. Nelli had arranged a large table for them, with ladder-back chairs instead of benches. She had even found a chair big enough for Loial.

The girl across the room was singing a song about a rich merchant who, having just lost his team of horses in an improbable way, had for some reason decided to pull his carriage himself. The men listening around her roared with laughter.

“This inn has an Ogier room,” Loial said as Perrin sat down. “Nelli claims it is lucky, having an Ogier under the roof. I cannot think they get many. The masons always stay together when they go Outside to work. Humans are so hasty, and the Elders are always afraid tempers will flare and someone will put a long handle on his axe.” He eyed the men around the singer as if he suspected them of it. His ears were drooping again.

The rich merchant was in the process of losing his carriage, to more laughter.

“We do tend to do that a lot,” said Rand. He was in his shirtsleeves, unarmoured and unescorted for once, though his sword still hung at his hip.

“Speak for yourself, sheepherder,” Min said, smothering a yawn as she joined them. “My axe is very short-handled.” She shouldered Rand aside good-naturedly and deposited herself in one of the chairs.

Rand didn’t take offense, just smiled as he took a seat at Min’s side. He seemed quite comfortable with her. Perhaps too comfortable. Min avoided Perrin’s eye in a way that made him suspect she knew his thoughts. He wondered who Rand had been with the night before if not Min.

Perhaps Anna, judging by the smile that she wore as she strode across the commons. That still made Perrin a little sad. He wasn’t as comfortable with the way things had turned out between the three of them as he tried to pretend. It wasn’t as if he and Rand hadn’t shared lovers before—there was Mat after all—but somehow it was different when it was a girl. Especially a girl that Perrin loved.

“What’s for breakfast?” she asked. “Is it too much to hope for some pickled Saldaean?”

Min burst out laughing before clapping a hand across her mouth and giving Perrin an apologetic look.

Rand saw fit to smirk as well. “Not my favourite meal. Too much vinegar.”

“Definitely not the sweetest of breakfasts. A bit tart, I’d say,” Anna continued. Like Rand, and Min for that matter, she was dressed casually in shirt and trousers with never a care to be seen. Perrin scowled at the table, measuring his words so carefully that he ended up saying nothing. He didn’t think they were being very fair.

Moiraine, of course, was neatly attired in a blue dress. She still had her face hidden, but Nelli had apparently sent someone to buy her a light cloak of dark blue linen. Lan held her chair for her before taking his own.

Zarine was the last down, running her fingers through just-washed hair. Her dress was as clean and tidy as Moiraine’s but of a sombre grey. The herbal scent was stronger around her than before. She stared at the platter Nelli placed on the table and muttered under her breath. “I hate fish.”

The stout woman had brought all the food on a small cart with shelves; it was dusty in places, as if it had been hastily brought out from the storeroom in Moiraine’s honour. The dishes were Sea Folk porcelain, too, if chipped.

“Eat,” Moiraine said, looking straight at Zarine. “Remember that any meal can be your last. You chose to travel with us, so tonight you will eat fish. Tomorrow, you may die.”

Perrin did not recognize the nearly round white fish with red stripes, but they smelled good. He lifted two onto his plate with the serving fork, and grinned at Zarine around a mouthful. They tasted good, too, lightly spiced.  _ Eat your nasty fish, falcon _ , he thought. He also thought that Zarine looked as if she might bite him.

“Do you wish me to stop the girl singing, Mistress Mari?” Nelli asked. She was setting a bowl of peas and some sort of stiff yellow mush on the table. “So you can eat in quiet?”

Staring at her plate, Moiraine did not seem to hear.

Lan listened a moment—the merchant had already lost, in succession, his carriage, his cloak, his boots, his gold, and the rest of his clothes, and was now reduced to wrestling a pig for its dinner— and shook his head. “She will not bother us.” He looked close to smiling for a moment.

Zarine watched Nelli leave. “Odious woman,” she muttered, brushing furiously at her narrow skirts with both hands. “I believe she took me for your handmaid, Aes Sedai. I will not stand for that!”

“Watch your tongue,” Lan said softly. “If you use that name where folk can hear, you will regret it, girl.” She looked as if she were going to argue, but his icy blue eyes stilled her tongue this time, if it did not cool her glare.

“Why the secrecy? This is Andor, and the Lion Throne is known to be friendly to Tar Valon. But you dare not reveal yourselves? Strange. I have not seen that much expression on you, stone-face, since I met you.”

“No questions!” Moiraine said sharply. “You will know what I tell you and no more!”

“What will you tell me?” Zarine demanded.

The Aes Sedai smiled. “Eat your fish.”

The meal went on in near silence after that, except for the songs drifting across the room. There was one about a rich man whose wife and daughters made a fool of him time and again without ever deflating his self-importance, another that concerned a young woman who decided to take a walk without any clothes, and one that told of a blacksmith who managed to shoe himself instead of the horse. Zarine nearly choked laughing at that one, forgot herself enough to take a bite of fish, and suddenly grimaced as if she had put mud in her mouth.

_ I won’t laugh at her _ , Perrin told himself. However foolish she looks,  _ I’ll show her what manners are _ . “They taste good, don’t they,” he said. Zarine gave him a bitter look, and Moiraine a frown for interrupting her thoughts, and that was all the talk there was.

No-one stayed long at the table after finishing their meals. Rand and Min stepped out with Hurin and a handful of other Shienarans, Rand accepting the coat that Saeri ran to fetch him as though such behaviour was perfectly normal.

Perrin took their example and went out for a walk, though unlike Rand, he went alone.

Aringill bustled with activity. A cacophony of sounds vied for the attention of Perrin’s enhanced hearing but one sound stood out among it all. His steps turned in the direction of that sound almost instinctually.

The ring of hammer on anvil called to him.

It was a relief to walk into the smithy. The ground floor was all one large room with no back wall except for two long doors that stood open on a yard for shoeing horses and oxen, complete with an ox sling. Hammers stood in their stands, tongs of various kinds and sizes hung on the exposed joists of the walls, buttresses and hoof knives and other farrier’s tools lay neatly arranged on wooden benches with chisels and beak irons and swages and all the implements of the blacksmith’s craft. Bins held lengths of iron and steel in various thicknesses. Five grinding wheels of different roughness stood about the hard dirt floor, six anvils, and three stone-sided forges with their bellows, though only one held glowing coals. Quenching barrels stood ready to hand.

The smith was plying his hammer on yellow-hot iron gripped in heavy tongs. He wore baggy breeches and had pale blue eyes, but the long leather vest over his bare chest and apron were not much different from those Perrin and Master Weyland had worn back in Emond’s Field, and his thick arms and shoulders spoke of years working metal. His dark hair had almost the same amount of grey that Perrin remembered in Master Weyland’s. More vests and aprons hung on the wall, as if the man had apprentices, but they were not in evidence now. The forge-fire smelled like home. The hot iron smelled like home.

The smith turned to thrust the piece he was working back into the coals, and Perrin stepped over to work the bellows for him. The man glanced at him, but said nothing. Perrin pulled the bellows handle up and down with slow, steady, even strokes, keeping the coals at the right heat. The smith went back to working the hot iron, on the rounded horn of the anvil, this time. Perrin thought he might be making a barrel scrape. The hammer rang with sharp, quick blows.

The man spoke without looking up from his work. “Apprentice?” was all he said.

“Yes,” Perrin replied just as simply.

The smith worked on for a time. It was a barrel scrape, for cleaning the insides of wooden barrels. Now and again he eyed Perrin consideringly. Setting his hammer down, just for a moment, the smith picked up a short length of thick, square stock and pushed it into Perrin’s hand, then picked up his hammer again and resumed work. “See what you can do with that,” he said.

Without even thinking about it, Perrin stepped over to an anvil on the other side of the forge and tapped the stock against its edge. It made a nice ring. The steel had not been left long enough in the slowfurnace to pick up a great deal of carbon from the coal. He pushed it into the hot coals for almost its entire length, tasted the two water barrels to see which had been salted—the third was olive oil— then took off his coat and shirt and chose a leather vest that would fit his chest. Finding an apron was easier.

When he turned around, he saw the smith, still with his head down over his work, nodding and smiling to himself. But just because he knew his way around a smithy did not mean he had any skill at smithing. That was yet to be shown.

When he came back to the anvil with two hammers, a set of long-handled flat-tongs, and a sharp-topped hardy, the steel bar had heated to a dark red except for a small bit of what he had left out of the coals. He worked the bellows, watching the colour of the metal lighten, until it reached a yellow just short of white. Then he pulled it out with the tongs, laid it on the anvil, and picked up the heavier of the two hammers. About ten pounds, he estimated, and with a longer handle than most people, who did not know metal working, thought was necessary. He held it near the end; hot metal gave off sparks, sometimes, and he had seen the scars on the hands of the smith from up at Watch Hill, a careless fellow.

He did not want to make anything elaborate or fancy. Simple things seemed best at the moment. He began by rounding the edges of the bar, then hammered the middle out into a broad blade, almost as thick as the original at the butt, but a good hand and a half long. From time to time he returned the metal to the coals, to keep it at the pale yellow, and after a time he shifted to the lighter hammer, half the weight of the first. The piece beyond the blade, he thinned down, then bent it over the anvil horn in a curve down beside the blade. A wooden handle could be fixed onto that, eventually. Setting the sharp-chisel hardy in the anvil’s hardy-hole, he laid the glowing metal atop it. One sharp blow of the hammer cut off the tool he had made. Or almost made. It would be a chamfer knife, for smoothing and leveling the tops of barrel staves after they were hopped together, among other things. When he was done. The other man’s barrel scrape had made him think of it.

As soon as he had made the hot-cut, he tossed the glowing metal into the salted quenching barrel. Unsalted gave a harder quench, for the hardest metal, while the oil gave the softest, for good knives. And swords, he had heard, but he had never had any part in making anything like that.

When the metal had cooled enough, to a dull grey, he removed it from the water and took it to the grinding wheels. A little slow work with the footpedals ground a polish onto the blade. Carefully, he heated the blade portion again. This time the colours deepened, to straw, to bronze. When the bronze colour began to run up the blade in waves, he set it aside to cool. The final edge could be sharpened then. Quenching again would destroy the tempering he had just done.

“A very neat bit of work,” the smith said. “No wasted motion. You looking for work? My apprentices just walked away, all three of them, the worthless fools, and I’ve plenty you could do.”

Perrin shook his head. “I do not know how long I will be in town. I’d like to work a little longer, if you do not mind. It has been a long time, and I miss it. Maybe I could do some of the work you apprentices would have done.”

The smith snorted loudly. “You’re a deal better than any of those louts, moping around and staring, muttering about adventures. Yes, you can work here, as long as you want. Light, I’ve orders for a dozen drawknives and three cooper’s adzes, and a carpenter down the street needs a mortise hammer, and ... Too much to list it. Start with the drawknives, and we will see how far we get before night.”

Perrin lost himself in the work, for a time forgetting everything but the heat of the metal, the ring of his hammer, and the smell of the forge, but there came a time when he looked up and found the smith—Dermot Alber, he had said his name was—taking off his vest, and the shoeing yard dark. All the light came from the forge and a pair of lamps. And Zarine was sitting on an anvil by one of the cold forges, watching him.

“So you really are a blacksmith, blacksmith,” she said.

“He is that, mistress,” Alber said. “Apprentice, he says, but the work he did today amounts to his master’s piece as far as I am concerned. Fine stroking, and better than steady.” Perrin shifted his feet at the compliments, and the smith grinned at him. Zarine stared at both of them with a lack of comprehension.

Perrin went to replace the vest and apron on their peg, but once he had them off, he was suddenly conscious of Zarine’s eyes on his back. It was if she were touching him; for a moment, the herbal scent of her seemed overwhelming. He quickly pulled his shirt over his head, stuffed it raggedly into his breeches, and jerked on his coat. When he turned around, Zarine wore one of those small, secretive smiles that had always made him nervous.

“Is this what you mean to do, then?” she asked. “Did you come all this way to be a blacksmith again?” Alber paused in the act of pulling the yard doors closed and listened.

Perrin picked up the heavy hammer he had used, a ten-pound head with a handle as long as his forearm. It felt good in his hands. It felt right. The smith had glanced at his eyes once and never even blinked; it was the work that was important, the skill with metal, not the colour of a man’s eyes. “No,” he said sadly. “One day, I hope. But not yet.” He started to hang the hammer back on the wall.

“Take it.” Alber cleared his throat. “I do not usually give away good hammers, but ... The work you’ve done today is worth more than the price of that hammer by far, and maybe it will help you to that ‘one day.’ Man, if I have ever seen anyone made to hold a smith’s hammer, it is you. So take it. Keep it.”

Perrin closed his hand around the haft. It did feel right. “Thank you,” he said. “I cannot say what this means to me.”

“Just remember the ‘one day,’ man. Just you remember it.”

As they left, Zarine looked up at him and said, “Do you have any idea how strange men are blacksmith? No. I did not think you did.” She darted ahead, leaving him holding the hammer in one hand and scratching his head with the other.

Perrin caught up to her as they walked back toward The Riverman through the evening shadows. A good tiredness soaked through his arms and shoulders; along with more common work, Master Alber had had him make a large piece of ornamental work, all elaborate curves and scrolls, to go on some country lord’s new gate. He had enjoyed making something so pretty.

“You were gone a long time, blacksmith,” Zarine said. “Some people got worried. Not me though, just your boyish little friends.”

He glanced sideways at her, walking beside him, the shadows masking her face. Even for his eyes, the shadows were there, just fainter than they would have been for another’s. They emphasized her high cheekbones, softened the strong curve of her nose. He just could not make up his mind about her. Even if Moiraine and Lan insisted they stay close to the inn, he wished she could have found something else to do besides watch him work. For some reason, he had found himself growing awkward whenever he thought of her tilted eyes on him. Girls had always been able to make him feel awkward, especially when they smiled at him, but Zarine did not have to smile. Only look. He wondered again if she was the beautiful woman Min had warned him against.  _ Better if she is the falcon _ . That thought surprised him so much that he stumbled.

“I did not mean to frighten anyone, Fai—Zarine.”

She smiled broadly, no doubt thinking he could not see her. “You will fall yet, farmboy. Have you ever thought of wearing a beard?”

_ It is bad enough she’s always mocking me, but half the time I do not even understand her! _

Perrin had worked up an appetite, and the smells from the taverns they passed soon had his stomach growling. He would have ploughed on towards their inn but Faile was watching him with a half-smile curving her lips.

“Oh, alright then,” she declared. “You don’t need to embarrass yourself by begging like this, blacksmith. I’ll feed you.”

“I wasn’t begging,” he said firmly. “And I don’t need your help to find a meal.”

She ignored that and took a grip on his sleeve before darting towards the nearest tavern. It was either yank his arm free or let her lead him, and Perrin was too polite for the former, no matter how irritating he found the latter.

Neither politeness nor irritation were enough to stop him from wolfing down the food she bought though. He had finished his whole plate while she was still less than half done with hers. While he waited, he relaxed in his seat, closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the simple pleasure of a hard day’s work followed by a good meal.  _ This would be life enough for me _ , he thought.  _ They can keep all this  _ ta’veren _ stuff. Light’s truth _ .

Through the commotion, his ears picked out a familiar name spoken at a nearby table. Perrin frowned and rose slowly from his seat.

The people around that table were the sort of odd mixture usually only found in taverns. Two barefoot sailors wearing oiled coats over bare chests, one with a thick gold chain close around his neck. A once fat man with sagging jowls, in a dark Cairhienin coat with slashes of red and gold and green across his chest which might have indicated that he was a noble, though one sleeve was torn at the shoulder; a good many Cairhienin refugees had come down far in the world. A grey-haired woman all in subdued dark blue, with a hard face and a sharp eye and heavy gold rings on her fingers. And the speaker, the fork-bearded fellow, with a ruby the size of a pigeon’s egg in his ear. The three silver chains looped across the straining chest of his dark, reddish coat named him a Kaltori master merchant. They had a guild for merchants in Kaltor. He’d seen a few such men and women during their stay in Valreis.

The talk ceased and all eyes swung to Perrin when he stopped at their table. “Good evening. I heard you mention the Theren.”

The Kaltori ran a quick eye over him, and grew wary. “I did,” he said carefully. “I was saying there’ll be no tabac out of there this year, I’ll wager. I have twenty casks of the finest Theren leaf, though, than which there is none finer. Fetch an excellent price later in the year. If you wish a cask for your own stock ...” He tugged one point of his yellow beard and laid a finger alongside his nose. “... I am certain I could manage to—”

“That won’t be necessary, thank you,” Perrin said softly, cutting him short. “Why would there be no tabac out of the Theren?”

“Why, because of the Whitecloaks. The Children of the Light.”

A chill ran up Perrin’s spine. “What about Whitecloaks?”

The master merchant peered around the table for help; there was a dangerous note in that quiet tone. The sailors looked as if they would leave if they dared. The Cairhienin was glaring at Perrin, sitting up too straight and smoothing his worn coat as he swayed; the empty mug in front of him was obviously not his first. The grey-haired woman had her mug to her mouth, her sharp eyes watching Perrin over the rim in a calculating way.

Perrin tried to make himself look friendly, but the urge to grab the man by the collar and shake some answers out of him was hard to resist.  _ Whitecloaks in the Theren? Why? What are they doing? _

Managing a seated bow, the merchant put on an ingratiating tone. “The rumour is that the Whitecloaks have gone into the Theren to purge it of Darkfriends. They passed through Andor weeks ago and weren’t shy about telling folk their intentions. You know what they are like. Apparently the entire district is a haven for the Shadow.” He eyed Perrin to see how that had been taken. Perrin had no idea what he looked like but his heart was racing. “These rumours can run very wild. Perhaps it’s only wind in a bucket. The same rumour claims the Whitecloaks are after some Darkfriend with yellow eyes, too.” He developed a sudden interest in the table. Even through the miasma of scents in the tavern, Perrin could small his fear. “Did you ever hear of a man with yellow eyes? No more have I. Wind in a bucket.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

As he turned away, he heard mutters from the table. “I thought he’d cut my throat.” That from the fork-bearded merchant.

“An odd young man,” the woman said. “Dangerous. Do not try your ploys on that kind, Paetram.” Perrin barely heard them.  _ Whitecloaks in the Theren. Light! _

People often said that Perrin was slow of thought and action, but he came to his decision instantly. There just wasn’t any other choice.

“What’s wrong,” Zarine asked. Her half-finished meal was still on the table. He wasn’t sure when she had decided to come listen.

He answered without thinking. “There are Whitecloaks in my home.”

After a moment’s pause she said, “There are rumours of Whitecloaks in your home. Rumours are suspect, always.”

He shook his head. “Yellow eyes make it more than that. There doesn’t seem to be much doubt, to me. It’s all too close to the truth.”

“What will you do?”

“A hundred reasons to stay,” he muttered, “but the one reason to go outweighs them. The Whitecloaks are in the Theren, and they’ll hurt people trying to find me. I can stop it, if I go.”

She eyed him fiercely. “Why should the Whitecloaks want you enough to hurt anybody?”

He wondered what she’d think if she heard of the men he’d killed. But he supposed it didn’t matter now. “They know my name,” Perrin said softly. “They can find my family. As for why, they have their reasons. Just as I have mine. Who can say who has the better? All I can say for sure is that I have to go home.”

“Very well. Moiraine is the next problem, then. Will she try to stop you?”

“Not if she doesn’t know. If she tries, I will go anyway. I have family and friends, Zarine; I won’t leave them to Whitecloaks. But I hope to keep it from her until I am well out of the city.”

“But it will take weeks to ride to the Theren. The Whitecloaks could be gone by then.”

“It won’t take weeks by the Ways,” he told her. “Two days, maybe three.” Two days. He supposed there was no means to make it faster.

“You are mad,” she said disbelievingly. She raised a finger and addressed him in a voice suitable for lecturing children. “Go into the Ways, and you come out hopelessly mad. If you come out at all, which it is most likely you will not. The Ways are tainted, Perrin. They have been dark for—what?—three hundred years? Four hundred? Ask Loial. He could tell you. It was Ogiers built the Ways, or grew them, or whatever it was. Not even they use the Ways. Why, even if you managed to make it through them unscathed, the Light alone knows where you would come out.”

“I have travelled them, Zarine.” And a frightening trip it had been, too. “Loial can guide me. He can read the guideposts; that’s how we went before. He will do it for me again when he knows how important it is.” Loial was a good friend. Perrin was sure he would help.

“Well,” she said, rubbing her hands together briskly. “Well, I wanted adventure, and this is certainly it. Travelling the Ways to fight Whitecloaks. I wonder whether we can find a bard to come along. He could compose the story, and you and I the heart of it. When do we leave? In the morning?”

He took a deep breath to steady his voice. “I will be going alone, Zarine. Just Loial and me.”

“We will need a packhorse,” she said as if he had not spoken. “Two, I think. The Ways are dark. We will need lanterns, and plenty of oil. Your Theren people. Farmers? Will they fight Whitecloaks?”

“Zarine, I said—”

“I heard what you said!” she snapped. Shadows gave her a dangerous look, with her tilted eyes and high cheekbones. “I heard, and it makes no sense. What if these farmers won’t fight? Or don’t know how? Who is going to teach them? You? Alone?”

“I will do what has to be done,” he said patiently. “Without you.”

Zarine said not a word. She stared at him with a face like stone, then turned and stalked out of the tavern, slamming the door behind her with a crash.

In spite of himself he started to follow, then stopped with his hands gripping the doorframe till his fingers hurt.  _ I killed Whitecloaks. They would have killed me if I hadn’t, but they still call it murder. I’m going home to die, Zarine. That’s the only way I can stop them hurting my people. Let them hang me. I cannot let you see that. I can’t. You might even try to stop it, and then they’d ... _

His head dropped against the door. She would go find her adventure somewhere else now, safe from Whitecloaks and  _ ta’veren _ . That was for the best. He wished he did not want to howl.


	14. Watchers and Hunters

CHAPTER 11: Watchers and Hunters

No one in The Riverman’s common room looked at him twice, a golden-eyed man carrying a smith’s hammer. They were too focused on the dancing girl. Anna sat alone, nursing a cup of wine and a wry smile. One look at Perrin’s face was enough to kill that smile off.

“What’s wrong?”

“Whitecloaks. In the Theren. Hunting for Darkfriends.”

Her face grew grimmer with every word. “Blood and ashes. Does Rand know?”

“I haven’t seen him.”

She put her cup aside and got to her feet. “He said something about watching Geko resupply; to learn how it’s done. I’ll go look for him. We need to decide what to do.”

“I already know what I have to do,” Perrin said grimly.

Anna’s eyes were as sharp as ever. “Don’t be in a hurry to jump in front of the arrow, not when we can still stop the bowman. Wait here, I’ll be back soon.” She didn’t bother getting her coat; short, quick strides took her across the room and out into the evening air.

He went up to his room, remembering for once to light a tallow candle. His quiver and the axe hung from the same peg on the plaster wall. He hefted the axe in one hand, the hammer in the other. By weight of metal, the axe, with its half-moon blade and thick spike, was a good five or six pounds lighter than the hammer, but it felt ten times heavier. Replacing the axe in the loop on its belt, he set the hammer on the floor beneath the peg, handle against the wall. Axe haft and hammer haft almost touched, two pieces of wood equally thick. Two pieces of metal, near enough the same weight. For a long time he sat on the stool staring at them. He was still staring when Lan put his head into the room.

“Come, blacksmith. We have things to talk over.”

“I am a blacksmith,” Perrin said, and the Warder frowned at him.

“Don’t go winter-crazy on me now, blacksmith. If you cannot carry your weight any longer, you may drag us all down the mountain.”

“I’ll carry my weight,” Perrin growled. “I will do what has to be done. What do you want?”

“You, blacksmith. Don’t you listen? Come on, farmboy.”

That name that Zarine so often called him pulled him to his feet angrily, now, but Lan was already turning away. Perrin hurried into the hall and followed him toward the front of the inn, meaning to tell the Warder he had had enough of this “blacksmith” and “farmboy,” his name was Perrin Aybara. The Warder led him to a quiet corner of the common room.

Perrin followed him. “Now listen, Warder, I—”

“You listen, Perrin,” Moiraine said. “Be quiet and listen.” Her face was smooth, but her eyes looked as grim as her voice sounded.

Perrin had not realized anyone was there except for himself and the Warder, standing with one arm up on the mantel of the unlit fireplace. Moiraine sat at a table, a simple piece, of black oak. None of the other chairs with their high, carved backs were occupied. Zarine was leaning against the wall at the other end of the room from Lan, scowling, and Loial had chosen to sit on the floor since none of the chairs really fit him.

“I’m glad you decided to join us, farmboy,” Zarine said sarcastically. “Moiraine would not say anything till you came. She just looks at us as if she is deciding which of us is going to die. I—”

“Be quiet, girl,” said Moiraine coldly. She turned her attention to Perrin, and her eyes were as cold as her voice. “You have heard rumours concerning the Theren. Be aware that they are merely rumours. I will let you know should they become more. Until that time you are to refrain from doing anything foolish.”

“You don’t want me to go home,” he said, then added a more scornful, “Of course you don’t.”

“Matters of great import are in the work, Perrin. Matters you do not fully understand. They cannot be jeopardised by your childishness. Leave this in my hands. And do not tell Rand.”

He grunted. “Too late.”

She made a brief, vexed sound, but when he glanced at her she was all composure. “There was a time I hoped you would prove to be the most sensible of the three. How disappointing.”

“If you’re expecting me to apologise for wanting to protect my friends and family you’re in for a long wait.” He didn’t want to believe that even Whitecloaks could accuse his sisters or little brother of being Darkfriends just for being related to him, but he couldn’t put it past them either.

“And if you are expecting your mistakes to have no consequences your wait may prove a very short one indeed,” she said, sending a chill down his spine. A gesture summoned Lan to her side and the two conversed in whispers that even Perrin couldn’t hear. They were so silent in fact that he began to suspect she was using the One Power.

Nelli was clearing away Moiraine’s dishes and setting a pot of tea and an array of cheeses on the table when a stink of something vile lifted the hackles on the back of Perrin’s neck. It was a smell of something that should not be, and he had smelled it before. He peered about the common room uneasily.

The girl still sang to the knot of listeners, some men were strolling across the floor from the door, and Baerd still leaned on the wall tapping his foot to the sounds of the bittern. Nelli patted her rolled hair, gave the room a quick glance, and turned to push the cart away.

He looked at his companions. Loial, unsurprisingly, had pulled a book from his coat pocket and seemed to have forgotten where he was. Zarine, absently rolling a piece of white cheese into a ball, was eyeing first Perrin, then Moiraine, then him again, while trying to pretend she was not. It was Lan and Moiraine he was really interested in, though. They could sense a Myrddraal, or a Trolloc, or any Shadowspawn, before it came closer than a few hundred paces, but they didn’t seem alarmed. Yet the smell of wrongness was there, as it had been before, and this time it was not going away. It seemed to be coming from something within the common room.

He studied the room again. Baerd against the wall, some men crossing the floor, the girl singing on the table, all the laughing men sitting around her.  _ Men crossing the floor? _ He frowned at them. Six men with ordinary faces, walking toward where he was sitting. Very ordinary faces. He was just starting to reinspect the men listening to the girl when suddenly it came to him that the stink of wrongness was rolling from the six. Abruptly they had daggers in their hands, as if they had realized he had seen them.

“They have knives!” he roared, and threw the teapot at them, splashing hot water over his own arm in the process.

The common erupted into confusion, men shouting, the singer screaming, Nelli shouting for Baerd, everything happening at once. Lan leaped to his feet, and a ball of fire darted from Moiraine’s hand, and Loial snatched up his chair like a club, and Zarine danced to one side, cursing. She had a knife in her hand, too, but Perrin was too busy to notice much of what anyone else did. Those men seemed to be looking straight at him, and his axe was hanging from a peg up in his room.

Seizing a chair, he ripped off a thick chair leg that ran up to make one side of the ladder-back, hurled the rest of the chair at the men, and set about him with his long bludgeon. They were trying to reach him with their naked steel, as if Lan and the others were only obstacles in their way. It was a tight tangle where all he could manage was to knock blades away from him, and his wilder swings threatened Lan and Loial and Zarine as much as any of his six attackers. From the corner of his eye he saw Moiraine standing to one side, frustration on her face; they were all so mixed together that she could do nothing without endangering friend as well as foe. None of the knife wielders as much as glanced at her; she was not between them and Perrin.

Panting, he managed to crack one of the ordinary-looking men across the head so hard that he heard bone splinter, and abruptly realized they were all down. It all seemed to him to have gone on for a quarter of a hour or more, but he saw that Baerd was just halting, his large hands working as he stared at the six men sprawled dead on the floor. Baerd had not even had time to reach the fight before it was done.

Lan wore a face even grimmer than usual; he began searching the bodies, thoroughly, but with a quickness that spoke of distaste. Loial still had his chair raised to swing; he gave a start and set it down with an embarrassed grin. Moiraine was staring at Perrin, and so was Zarine as she retrieved her knife from the chest of one of the dead men. That stench of wrongness was gone, as if it had died with them.

“Grey Men,” the Aes Sedai said softly, “and after you.”

“Grey Men?” Nelli laughed, both loud and nervously. “Why, Mistress Mari, next you’ll say you believe in boggles and bugbears and Fetches, and Old Grim riding with the black dogs in the Wild Hunt.” Some of the men who had been listening to the songs laughed, too, though they looked as uneasily at Moiraine as at the dead men. The singer stared at Moiraine as well, her eyes wide. Perrin remembered that one ball of fire, before everything grew too jumbled. One of the Grey Men had a somewhat charred look about him, and gave off a sickly-sweet burned smell.

Moiraine turned from Perrin to the stout woman. “A man may walk in the Shadow,” the Aes Sedai said calmly, “without being Shadowspawn.”

“Oh, aye, Darkfriends.” Nelli put her hands on generous hips and frowned at the corpses. Lan had finished his searching; he glanced at Moiraine and shook his head as if he had not really expected to find anything. “More likely thieves, though I never heard of thieves bold enough to come right into an inn. I’ve never had even one killing in The Riverman before. Baerd! Run fetch the Queen’s Guards. I’ll need to explain this.” Baerd nodded as if eager to be useful after failing to take a hand earlier.

“Aes Sedai?” the dark-eyed singer said. “I did not mean to offend with my common songs.” She was covering the exposed part of her bosom, which was most of it, with her hands. “I can sing others, if you would so like.”

“Sing whatever you wish, girl,” Moiraine told her. “The White Tower is not so isolated from the world as you seem to think, and I have heard rougher songs than you would sing.” Even so, she did not look pleased that the common now knew she was Aes Sedai.

His shirt rubbed painfully at the burn on his arm. It did not seem a bad burn, but ... “Uh ... Will you Heal this?”

“Are you no longer uneasy about the One Power being used on you, then, Perrin? No, I will not Heal it. It is not serious, and it will remind you of the need to be careful.” Careful about pressing her, he knew, as well as about the Shadow’s plots.

The dark-eyed girl climbed back on her table and started singing again, in an unsteady voice.

The tune was one Perrin knew as “Mistress Aynora’s Rooster,” and though the words were different once more, to his disappointment—and embarrassment that he was disappointed—it actually was about a rooster. Mistress Luhhan herself would not have disapproved.  _ Light, I’m getting as bad as Mat _ .

None of the listeners complained; some of the men did look a bit disgruntled, but they seemed to be as anxious about what Moiraine might approve as the singer was. No one wished to offend an Aes Sedai. A few of the men listening to the song glanced at the corpses and shook their heads. One of them spat on the sawdust.

Lan came to stand in front of Perrin. “How did you know them, blacksmith?” he asked quietly. “Their taint of evil is not strong enough for Moiraine or me to sense. Grey Men have walked past a hundred guards without being noticed, and Warders among them.”

Very conscious of Zarine’s eyes on him, Perrin tried to make his voice even softer than Lan’s. “I ... I smelled them. I’ve smelled them before, but it always vanished.” He was not sure whether Zarine had overheard or not; she was leaning forward trying to listen, and trying to appear not to at the same time.

“Following Rand, then. Following you, now, blacksmith.” The Warder gave no visible sign of surprise. He raised his voice to a more normal level. “I am going to look around outside, blacksmith. Your eyes might see something I miss.” Perrin nodded; it was a measure of the Warder’s worry that he asked for help. “Ogier, your folk see better than most, too.”

“Oh, ah,” Loial said. “Well, I suppose I could take a look, too.” His big, round eyes rolled sideways toward the Grey Men on the floor. “I would not think any more of them were out there. Would you?”

“What are we looking for, stone-face?” Zarine said.

Lan eyed her a moment, then shook his head as if he had decided not to say something. “Whatever we find, girl. I will know it when I see it.”

Perrin thought about going upstairs for his axe, but the Warder made for the door, and he was not wearing his sword.  _ He hardly needs it _ , Perrin thought grumpily.  _ He is almost as dangerous without it as with _ . He held on to the chair leg as he followed. It was a relief to see that Zarine still had her knife in her hand.

Thick black clouds were roiling overhead. The street was as dark as late twilight, and empty of people who had apparently not waited to be caught in the rain. Perrin wrinkled his nose. There was a smell of fireworks on the wind. No, not fireworks, exactly. It was a burned sulphur sort of smell. Almost.

Zarine tapped the chair leg in his hands with her knife blade. “You really are strong, big man. You tore that chair apart as if it were made of twigs.”

Perrin grunted. He realized he was standing straighter, and deliberately made himself slouch.  _ Fool girl! _ Zarine laughed softly, and suddenly he did not know whether to straighten or stay as he was.  _ Fool! _ This time he meant it for himself.  _ You’re supposed to be looking. _ For what? He did not see anything but the street, did not smell anything but the almost burned sulphur scent. And Zarine, of course.

Loial appeared to be wondering what it was he was looking for, too. He scratched a tufted ear, peered one way down the street, then the other, then scratched the other ear. Then he stared up at the roof of the inn.

Lan appeared from the alleyway beside the inn and moved out into the street, eyes studying the darker shadows along the buildings.

“Maybe he missed seeing something,” Perrin muttered, though he found it hard to believe, and turned toward the alley _. I am supposed to be looking, so I’ll look _ . Maybe he did miss something.

Lan had stopped a little way down the street, staring at the paving stones in front of his feet. The Warder started back toward the inn, walking quickly, but peering at the street ahead of him as if following something. Whatever it was led straight to one of the mounting blocks, almost beside the inn door. He stopped there, staring at the top of the grey stone block.

Perrin decided to abandon going down the alley and walked over to Lan, instead. He saw what the Warder was staring at right away. Pressed into the top of the stone mounting block were two prints, as if a huge hound had rested its forepaws there. The smell that was almost burned sulphur was strongest here.  _ Dogs don’t make footprints in stone. Light, they don’t! _ He could make out the trail Lan had followed, too. The hound had trotted up the street as far as the mounting block, then turned and gone back the way it had come. Leaving tracks in the stone as if they had been a ploughed field.  _ They just don’t! _

“I suspected there would be something else involved. A Grey Man is no better at tracking than a normal man is,” Lan said. At their questioning looks he added, “Darkhound,” and Zarine gasped. Loial moaned softly. For an Ogier. “A Darkhound leaves no mark on dirt, blacksmith, not even on mud, but stone is another matter. This one was hunting for something, I’d say. And once it found it, it went to tell its master.”

_ Me? _ Perrin thought.  _ Grey Men and Darkhounds hunting me? This is crazy! _

“You didn’t sense this Darkhound, Lan, and neither did Moiraine. Why not?”

The Warder was silent for a time. “The answer to that, blacksmith,” he said grimly at last, “may be more than you or I, either one, want to know. I hope the answer does not kill us all. I doubt we will stay the night in Aringill, and I fear we have hard riding ahead.”

The first big drops of rain splatted on the paving stones as they went back inside. The dark-eyed girl was singing a sad song about a boy leaving his love. Mistress Luhhan would have enjoyed it greatly.

“Now you bring Fetches into it,” Zarine muttered. “Grey Men. Fetches. Darkhounds. You had better lead me to the Horn of Valere, farmboy. What other surprises do you have waiting for me?”

“No questions,” Lan told her. “You still know little enough that Moiraine will release you from your oath, if you swear not to follow. I’ll take that oath myself, and you can go now. You would be wise to give it.”

“You will not frighten me away, stone-face,” Zarine said. “I do not frighten easily.” But she sounded frightened. And smelled it, too.

“Do you still wish to follow?” Moiraine said softly, rising from her seat at their approach. “I would not make you stay here, not now, but I will give you one last chance to swear to go another way than I.”

Zarine hesitated, and Perrin paused, listening. Surely no one would choose to go with people who were hunted by Grey Men and Darkhounds.  _ Not unless she has a very good reason. _

“No,” Zarine said finally, and he began to relax. “No, I will not swear to go another way. Whether you lead me to the Horn of Valere or not, not even whoever does find the Horn will have a story such as this. I think this story will be told for the ages, Aes Sedai, and I will be part of it.”

“No!” Perrin snapped. “That is not good enough. What do you want?”

“I have no time for this bickering,” Moiraine broke in. “Any moment the Shadow may learn that their assassins failed. You can be sure they will make another attempt. Gather your things you foolish children!”

_ She has to have a reason. Being in a bloody story isn’t reason enough for any but a madwoman! _

“I do not understand,” Perrin growled.  _ I seem to be saying that a great deal, and I’m tired of it. I want some answers I can understand _ . “Why me, Moiraine? Why me? Rand is the bloody Dragon Reborn, and Min blew the Horn of Valere! Why would they be after me!?”

He heard the gasps from Zarine and Nelli, and the distant sound of dishes being dropped on a hard floor. Only then did he realize what he had said. Moiraine’s stare seemed to skin him like the sharpest steel.  _ Careless. Mustn’t be careless. Carelessness ruins the work. Hasty bloody tongue. When did I stop thinking before I speak?  _ It seemed to him it had happened when he first felt Zarine’s eyes watching him.

She was watching him now, with her mouth hanging open. She made a strangled sound. “She blew it? It’s been found already? And he ...”

“You are sealed to us, now,” Moiraine told the bold-faced woman. “There is no turning back for you. Ever.” Zarine looked as if she wanted to say something and was afraid to, but the Aes Sedai had already turned her attention elsewhere. “Nelli, hold your tongue even better than you have held it all these years. There are those who would cut it out for what you could say, before I could even find you.” Her hard tone left doubts as to exactly how she meant that, and Nelli nodded vigorously as if she had heard it both ways.

Zarine looked at Moiraine, and shivered. “Blacksmith, if I live through this, I will make you pay,” she said in an unsteady voice.

Perrin stared at her.  _ Me! The fool woman thinks it my fault? Did I ask her to come? _ He opened his mouth, saw the look in Moiraine’s eyes, and closed it again quickly.

“As for you, Perrin.” The Aes Sedai moved closer, and he leaned back from her despite all he could do. “There are many threads woven in the Pattern, and some are as black as the Shadow itself. Take care one of them does not strangle you.” Satisfied with whatever she saw on his face, she turned for the stairs.

_ Burn you, Moiraine. Sometimes I do not know which side you are on _ . He glanced at Zarine.  _ And whose side are you on? _

The inn door crashed open and, in irritatingly dramatic fashion, the thunder chose that moment to rumble across the sky. A wet-haired Rand stood in the doorway, grim-faced and intent, with Anna and Min crowding in beside him and a dozen battle scarred Shienarans looming behind.

The singer had a good voice and could really hit the high notes. Her terrified shriek made Perrin wince even more than the anticipation of the talk to come.


	15. Dark Deliverance

CHAPTER 12: Dark Deliverance

Rand hastened through the inn, trying not to catch anyone’s eye. His Shienaran armsmen had taken up posts at every exit. No-one would leave before them to carry the tale Perrin had told. Once they were gone though, that tale would spread like wildfire.

His companions were gathering near the stables with their own hastily packed belongings. The overhanging roof partially shielded them from the rain. Anna and Min, Loial and Hurin, Saeri and Luci. Zarine was there, too. Standing in their midst, the wolfbrother looking rather sheepish. Even the normally easy-going Min had her arms folded and was giving him a stern look. Rand had intended to say something along the lines of expecting that kind of carelessness from Mat but not from Perrin, but on seeing his friend surrounded by censorious eyes, he decided to relent.

Lan ran past him, buckling his sword belt on, colour-shifting cloak hanging over his arm as if he hardly cared who saw it. He strode off towards the stable, from which the sounds of hasty preparations already emanated.

“If he is wearing that in a city ...” Loial’s said, shaking his head.

“Then we should leave that city quickly,” Rand finished.

“And we only just arrived too,” Min sighed. “Thanks Perrin.”

He muttered an apology, but Zarine was less accepting of the rebuke. The way she raised her chin at Min made the Saldaean’s large, hooked nose seem even bigger. “And where were you while we were fighting off Grey Men? The sounder of the Horn of Valere should be heroic herself, should she not? I don’t see it. You are not what I would have expected. When was the last time you changed your clothes, or brushed your hair?”

Min rolled her eyes. “Maybe I should strike a dramatic pose and rename myself ‘Lioness’, would that be more what you imagined? Bloody Hunters.”

Rand didn’t particularly like Zarine, and hearing her insult Min put his back up something fierce. “Ignore her, Min,” he said, trying to keep his voice smooth. “She’s just jealous. That whole Hunt of the Horn was a waste of time before it was even called. We’d already found it.”

He expected a sharp retort. Nynaeve or Egwene would have had quite a bit to say to any man who called for them to be ignored, but Zarine fell silent. At his surprised glance, she pulled her eyes away and developed a sudden interest in the stables.

_ Of course. She knows I can channel now _ . He found little satisfaction in her uncharacteristic silence.

“Where will we go?” Saeri asked diffidently.

Rand gave her a reassuring smile and then lost himself for a moment in her eyes. Large, cobalt orbs they were, and full of trust, despite knowing what he was. The girl who owned them had a pale face framed by ink-black hair. Very young, very slender, very pretty.

“We’re going back to the  _ Snow Goose _ , Saeri,” he said belatedly. “I sent some men to arrange it once Anna gave me her news.”

“That was a sound enough decision,” Moiraine said. He glanced over his shoulder and found her in the doorway, looking as cool and composed as ever. “We can discuss in detail what to do beyond that. Later.”

“I don’t know what there is to discuss, Moiraine. It seems a pretty obvious decision.”

Anna and Perrin nodded their agreement to his words, but the Aes Sedai merely repeated herself: “Later.”

“Sure. Later. There’s definitely no time for it now, and no reason to keep Zarine around. Whatever damage she could have done is done already.” Short of killing everyone in the inn, there was no way of quelling the rumours that Perrin had unleashed. And he doubted even Moiraine would be willing to go that far.

“I have acquired a horse of my own,” said Zarine in a tight voice. “I can provide for myself and can keep up.”

“You mean to stay? Why?” Perrin demanded.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” she said angrily, and stalked into the stable.

Perrin hunched his shoulders as he watched her go. He hadn’t pulled up the hood of his cloak before venturing out into the storm-darkened yard and the rain had soaked his shaggy curls, laying them flat around his head.

“Just because she wants to come doesn’t mean we have to let her,” Anna muttered. “We could always just leave her on the docks.”

“Don’t be mean, Anna,” said Perrin.

She blinked at him in surprise. “I’m not. We don’t owe her anything. Why just let random strangers invite themselves into our company? We have no idea what they might do. Bloody Leliana tried to kill Rand, remember?”

Rand didn’t want to talk about Leliana. He strode into the stable and found Lan helping Zarine with a glossy black mare.

“Get on her back,” the Warder said. “If you do not know how to ride you must learn by doing, or take my offer. Ogier’s oath, you will not be harmed.”

Putting one hand on the high pommel, she vaulted easily into the saddle. “I was on a horse once, stone-face, now that I think of it.” She twisted around to tie her bundle behind her.

Blackwing was already saddled and waiting. Ingtar’s warhorse was a fine animal, black-coated and muscular. He was wasted on Rand, who did not know how to command such a beast.  _ I’ll have to ask Lan about that, once I can find the time _ , he thought as he stowed his bowstave. Red should be nearing Tar Valon by now, with Elayne. He missed her more than he had expected to. She was much more pleasant company than Zarine. More than pleasant in truth.

“Keep your eyes open, sheepherder,” Lan said as he walked past. “There’s at least one more Shadowspawn out there, and you’d be a fool to bet it was the only one.” Rand shook the cobwebs from his mind and took a moment to seek the void.  _ Saidin _ waited for him there, a flickering light that, upon being reached out to, filled him with warmth and made his stomach roil in disgust.

By the time he was ready, the others had already mounted up. Moiraine was watching him but no sooner had his eyes met hers did she touch her heels Aldieb’s flanks. The mare darted into the rain, Mandarb following close behind, and the rest rushing to keep up. Rand was left to scramble into his saddle and hasten after them.

He wasn’t the last to leave The Riverman, of course. Katsui, Mendao, Inukai and Areku would form the rear guard. They were all armoured, with half a dozen weapons each close to hand, even Areku, the sole woman among his guards. If Zarine became a problem he could ask her to do what he himself was forbidden to. He didn’t think the slender Saldaean would be able to stop Areku from hogtying her and leaving her by the roadside.

The streets of Aringill were almost deserted thanks to the rain. Rand let Blackwing run as he wished and used his free hand to keep his hood pulled forward against the downpour.

Perrin still hadn’t bothered with his own hood. He ignored the rain and frowned about him, occasionally sniffing the air in a way that had Rand suspiciously eyeing every alleyway they passed.

Zarine was riding beside him as if she had been born in a saddle and beyond her there was Min, who hunched forward in her saddle to increase the shelter her cloak offered. Every once in a while Zarine shot an unflattering look at the other girl.

Aringill was a large city and most of its buildings were two stories or higher. That remained true even as they drew close to the docks where, hopefully, the  _ Snow Goose _ awaited them. Captain Adarra had been intimidated enough by Moiraine that Rand didn’t think it likely she would refuse the demand to carry them farther downriver that he’d sent Geko to deliver. Even so, his shoulders tensed as they drew near to the dock at which her ship was berthed. The  _ Snow Goose _ could carry them swiftly away from Aringill and the rumours about him, but if they had to ride overland ... Rand didn’t want to think of what might happen if the Queen’s Guards came after him. He couldn’t afford to let them kill him, but even imagining the things he would have to do to stop it sickened him.

The sound of the rain pattering against cobblestones and rooftops was almost enough to drown out the quick trot of their horses’ hooves. It was coming down heavily enough now that he saw water sheeting off the slate roofs. He saw nothing else up there in the twilight and would have sworn there was nothing to see, until a choked scream yanked his attention back to the roof he’d just looked at. There was a man there. A man with a length of blood-soaked metal protruding from his chest.

Areku surged forward and placed herself between Rand and the dying man, standing in her stirrups with her shield raised high. The axe she favoured still rode her hip.

Something clattered to the ground beyond her. Whatever it was, the man above soon toppled forward to join it. A hooded shadow loomed behind with a length of bloody spear in its hand.

There was a commotion throughout their column as Moiraine demanded news and Shienarans unlimbered weapons. Perrin was an island of calmness in the middle of it all.

“Grey Man,” he said grimly. “With a loaded crossbow. The Aiel killed him.”

“Are there more, blacksmith?” Lan demanded, sword in hand.

“Grey Men or Aiel?”

“Grey Men.”

“None that I can ... know of. But with all this rain it’s hard to tell.” Perrin peered up at the roof, where the featureless shadow still crouched. “Thanks for taking care of that one, Gaul.”

“A minor thing, Perrin Aybara,” a man’s voice answered. “I still have  _ toh _ .”

“I can’t smell any either, Dai Shan,” Hurin said respectfully. “I should have said something. I thought I smelt something earlier but wasn’t sure.”

“Speak up next time. Wariness kills no-one. Silence can,” said Lan sternly.

“As you say, my Lord.”

“I had heard Shienarans were harder to ambush than this,” said another voice, a woman’s this time, and coming from the roof on the other side of the street. “It must have been Shaido who spread that tale. Or perhaps these wettest of lands have made you soft.”

There were angry mutters from the Shienarans. Rand heard Masema growl, “Aiel,” and from his lips the word became a curse.

“This is not an ambush, Bain,” said Gaul. He lowered his hood and stepped off the rooftop. He dropped two stories, landing in an easy crouch on the slick cobbles and paying little attention to the soldiers who moved to surround him.

Rand got a good look at him for the first time. He was a tall, clean-shaven and ruggedly handsome man with dark red hair and unflinching green eyes. The veil that Aiel all seemed to wear hung across his chest, and he carried a buckler and a trio of spears in his left hand. Rand suppressed a sigh at the sight of him. Ever since he’d left the Theren people had been telling him he looked like an Aiel, and certain things that Tam had said gave him reason to suspect he was indeed of Aiel blood. Seeing this Gaul right in front of him made it hard to tell himself that all those people who mentioned the resemblance were imagining things.

“I see you. I am Gaul, of the Imran sept of the Sharaad Aiel.”

“You followed us from Remen on foot,” said Perrin incredulously. “And crossed the Erinin?”

“Yes. The wetness of these wetlands continues to astonish,” the Aiel said, his face a blank mask that would have done Moiraine or Lan proud. “And their abundance. There was wood large enough to sit on simply lying on the ground.”

A log, Rand assumed he meant. He supposed it was unlikely the man could swim, if the Waste was all that people said it was.

Moiraine rode closer, though not too close, as a gesture from Lan warned against. “Well, we thank you for your assistance, Gaul, of the Imran sept of the Sharaad Aiel, but we must be going. Farewell.”

“She sounds like a Treekiller,” said another strange voice. Female again, coming from near the one Gaul had called Bain. More than one person eyed the rain-soaked rooftops warily. None of Rand’s people had their bows out or strung, not in this weather, and Rand dared to hope the same would be true of the watching Aiel, but those spears they carried looked like they could be thrown quite easily.

For once, Rand was inclined to agree with Moiraine. “She’s right, we’re in a hurry. At the risk of being rude, we must thank you for your help and be on our way.”

Gaul was studying Rand’s face beneath his hood. “Is this the one you spoke of, Perrin Aybara?”

Perrin sighed. “Yes.”

Rand looked at him incredulously. “Blood and ashes, Perrin! When did you get so loose-tongued? There are bloody good reasons I’ve been hiding that banner since Tarcain Cut. Would you mind not telling everyone we meet what I am!?”

“Could we please not do this in the street?” Min said, sounding worried. “I feel like every window is watching us. Rand, you’re out in the open.”

“Fine,” he growled. “To the ship, and quickly.”

Gaul was still scrutinising him. “I would come with you,” he announced.

Moiraine spoke up before Rand or Perrin could. “No. Captain Adarra would tell you she has no further room on her ship. We must part ways.”

Rand had been on the verge of saying something similar, but the way Moiraine rushed to speak over him, and the confidence with which she answered a question that had been asked of Rand and not her, got right on his nerves.  _ And he did kill that Grey Man; that earns him something _ .

“It won’t be comfortable but there would probably be room on the deck,” he said, ignoring Moiraine’s glare. “Do what you like, but we’re leaving now.”

A sound from the roofs made his shoulders tighten once more, but when he glanced over he only saw the two Aiel women. They jumped down, rolling smoothly across the cobblestones. Lean, and tall for women, they still wore the black veils across their faces. They picked up the wrapped bundles they must have dropped before them, showing a fine disregard for the naked steel that many of the men nearby still displayed. Their spears were harnessed across their backs, but Rand had the feeling they were daring anyone to attack them.

Moiraine rode close to Rand, so close that he doubted anyone else but Perrin could have heard her hissed words. Her dark eyes burned so hot that he was almost surprised to find the rain still reaching the ground. “You complain of Zarine’s presence and the risk it entails ... and then invite Aiel to travel with us? Are you trying to ruin everything? Or is this merely some boyish rebellion? Whichever the case may be, stop it, before you blunder into a mess that I cannot save you from.”

The “boyish rebellion” part almost made Rand flinch, but he managed to keep his composure. “Min’s right. We shouldn’t be doing this here,” he said quietly, then touched his heels to Blackwing’s flanks. He led the way through the unsafe streets of Aringill towards the docks.

As anticipated, it proved a simple matter to persuade Captain Adarra to take them farther down the Erinin. She was a Tar Valoni by birth, and not likely to go against an Aes Sedai’s wishes. If Moiraine had asked her to swim the rest of the way with the Aes Sedai perched on her back, Rand suspected Adarra would be in the water within a half dozen heartbeats at most. The only difficulty was, once again, getting all the horses onto the ship and safely situated. Conscious of the need for haste, he leant a hand with that chore despite the armsmens’ objections and the way they kept rushing to take any task he essayed on themselves instead. Between that and constantly watching Aringill in anticipation of the alarm being sounded, Rand grew so irritable that he ended up snapping at Izana and sending the young man away looking hurt. He felt bad about that—Izana was nice and meant well—but it was really annoying sometimes, the way they behaved with him. You’d think he was some spoiled nobleman who’d never worked a day in his life and didn’t know one end of a hoe from the other. His irritation didn’t leave him until they cast off and the sailors bent their backs to the sweeps, carrying them back out into the middle of the river and safely away from any further talk of the Dragon Reborn.

Standing at the  _ Snow Goose _ ’s stern and ignoring the rain, Rand heaved a sigh of relief. “I suppose no harm was done really. They would have heard the rumours from Valreis soon enough anyway. We just need to keep moving and we can outrun all that talk.”

Perrin matched his sigh and his disregard for the weather, but not his sentiment. “How far can you run, Rand? Even if you go all the way to the Spine of the World, the tales of Falme will catch up to you eventually.”

“I know. But in the absence of any other plan what else can I do but avoid as much trouble as possible?”

The wolfbrother’s eyes glowed in the darkness. “You know what.”

He sighed. “I do. But the more I think about it, the more dangerous it seems. I swore I wouldn’t go back, and I had good reasons to make that oath. I’d be endangering them, considering what I am and the enemies I have.”

“That milk’s long since spilled,” Perrin snorted. “You heard the story. Whitecloaks are claiming everyone in the Theren is a Darkfriend. Where do you think they got that stupid idea from all of a sudden? It’s because of us. Because of the things we’ve done and the things we are. They’ll blame our families for it. Hurt them maybe. I won’t let that happen. I didn’t think you would either ...”

Rand hadn’t flinched when the Grey Man was revealed, or when the Aiel were stalking them from the rooftops, but he did now.

“Don’t you think I want to?” he growled. “It’s complicated now. It shouldn’t be, but it is.” He wished it wasn’t. He wanted to see Tam again, and everyone in Emond’s Field. If they were truly in danger and there was any way he could help, would be okay for him to go, despite it all?  _ Any help I could offer might be as welcome as a peach for supper, and as deadly _ .

Raindrops spattered from Perrin’s curls as he shook his head. “Well I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to. I’ll go myself if I have to.”

He stalked off before Rand could respond to that or ask him about his other worry. Even if he went back to help his father and the rest of his people, how could he get to the Theren in time? The Whitecloaks had apparently passed through Andor weeks ago. They could be in Emond’s Field already for all he knew. Thinking of all the damage they might do and the people they might be doing it to made him shiver. If he gave in to his desires—if!—how could he get home in time to help?

“This is cold to you?” said a woman’s voice. One of the Aiel he knew, though he could scarcely see her. The three of them had seemed almost hesitant to step foot on the  _ Snow Goose _ and had braced themselves against the sway of the waves in a manner that had more than one sailor smirking. At least until they heard the Shienarans muttering about Aiel. Then the smirks had turned to pale-faced wariness. However unfamiliar she was with a ship, however, the Aiel woman was at home in the shadows. She avoided the light of the ship’s lamps, and if she had not spoken Rand wasn’t sure he’d have realised she was there.

“No. This is a fine spring evening,” he said. “The world can be cold though.”

“You tell me things that all children know. And you dress like a wetlander. These are strange times and I suspect they will get stranger. I have heard that your name is Rand al’Thor. I am Chiad, of the Stone Rivers sept of the Goshien Aiel. I am  _ Far Dareis Mai _ .” Those last words she delivered as though they should have some special significance. When Rand gave no reaction beyond a confused frown she continued in a more vexed tone. “Where do you go, Rand al’Thor? And who is your mother?”

Three of his ever-watchful armsmen had drifted closer when Chiad revealed herself, their hands hovering near the hilts of their weapons. At Rand’s sudden scowl those hands clenched into fists. Mendao had already cleared a few inches of his blade before Rand hastily waved for him to put it back. The shadow that was Chiad had shifted only slightly in response but he had the feeling she had seen the danger coming and was not afraid.

“My mother was Kari al’Thor. She’s gone now,” he said in a tight voice. “And I’m not telling you where I’m going.”

He wouldn’t have told her even if he knew. The Ways wouldn’t work. Even at the best of times they were dangerous, and now that  _ Machin Shin _ had begun hunting Rand personally there was no way he could use them. Though that could possibly be turned to their advantage ...

“My Lord. Pardon me for interrupting,” said Nangu insincerely. The Shienaran gave Chiad a brief, thin-lipped scowl before continuing. “Your maid prepared supper for you and took it to your cabin. I thought you might like to know, for it will be getting cold ...”

_ Get in out of the rain Rand, you’ll catch a cold. Eat your vegetables. And don’t talk to strangers. Blood and ashes, you’d think I was five _ . He didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh or cry. He stamped down his vexation and felt an excitement rise in its place. If Saeri had found an excuse to visit his room, he shouldn’t keep her waiting.

“I’ll go there now. Thanks, Nangu,” he muttered and left the Aiel in the darkness.

If not the Ways, then they’d have to disembark at Whitebridge and ride for the Taren. It had taken about a month to reach Whitebridge the first time he’d left Emond’s Field and the trip back would be nearly as long, even if they hurried. A lot could happen in a month. Portal Stones? Even if there was one near enough, he wasn’t sure he could risk it. The last one he’d used had done more harm than good.

When he ducked into his cabin, he found Saeri perched on the edge of his bed with her hands folded in her lap. She hopped to her feet immediately and when she saw he was alone a bright smile lit her face. Rand closed the door softly behind him.

“I hath brought thy supper, my Lord,” she proclaimed grandly.

Rand sighed softly. Saeri had taken a liking to High Chant, and none of his efforts to gently steer her towards talking more normally had worked. He supposed it was a harmless, if silly, habit. And she was a sweet girl who had been through a great deal. She didn’t deserve his rebukes.

The covered tray on the little table bolted to one wall of the cabin smelled appealing, but the girl in his room looked even more so. It occurred to him that he’d never pleasured her with his mouth before. Perhaps it was time for another lesson. His smile grew slowly as he took in the sight of her. “So I see. Thank you Saeri.”

Her fair cheeks grew rosy under his scrutiny and she began playing with her plain skirts.

“Would you like to stay awhile?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered, with pleasing promptness. “I was scared when that man tried to kill you.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. And sorrier to say that I doubt it will be the last time someone tries to take my life.”

“They shouldn’t,” she said fiercely. “I would stop them if I could.”

He cupped her cheek with his branded palm and smiled down at her. By rights she should want him dead. They all should. It was always a welcome surprise when someone didn’t. “I’m glad. But you mustn’t do anything to risk yourself.”

She leaned her cheek into his hand. “If thou sayest so.”

He left the tray where it sat, and shed his coat and shirt instead while a pink-cheeked Saeri watched, biting her lower lip all the while. When he, now shirtless, turned his full attention back to her she gave a start and flushed darker, as though caught doing something wrong. She hastily began ridding herself of her clothes, baring first her budding breasts and soon her barely-furred privates to his lamp-lit view. When she was completely naked, save for the silver and sapphire necklace he had given her, Saeri stood before him, smiling expectantly.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. Taking her by her slender hips, he lifted her easily and kissed her softly. She barely weighed a thing, as slim as she was. Her feet dangled well above the deck as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him back.

There was no resistance when he laid her down on his bed, only big blue eyes staring up at him, and the pleasant smell of her excitement. He brushed his fingers along her slit and they came away sticky. Saeri shivered in response.

He kissed her lips again, then began slowly working his way down her body, touching his lips to her neck, her pert young breasts, her flat stomach.

When he went even lower Saeri mumbled a confused, “M-my, l—Rand, what—oh!” The briefest touch of his lips to her sex caused her to whimper loudly. Her legs parted seemingly of their own accord. Rand grinned to himself, and went to work.

With his experienced tongue and equally experienced fingers, he brought the little girl to orgasm twice in swift succession that night, while she tossed her head and clutched the sheets in her small fists. Only when she was limp with pleasure did he fish his hard cock out of his breeches and grant it the relief of her tight pussy. Saeri moulded her body to his as he rode her, and despite his lust Rand made sure only to give her as much as she could comfortably take. She felt tiny in his arms, her skin was silky smooth, her pussy a hot little vice. He didn’t try to hold back. Short, swift strokes brought him to completion and he flooded her womb with his seed.

She curled up against his side afterwards, as he drowsed on the bed, and rested her head on his chest. “This is nice. Can I stay awhile?”

“Of course, sweetie,” he mumbled. “For a little while.” They’d all have to go soon, but where? And how to get there? And how many could, or would, go?

Saeri snuggled up against him. “Thou art my hero.”

Rand didn’t think himself a hero. Quite the opposite. But it was nice of her to say so. He wrapped an arm around her slender shoulders, and wondered idly if she had turned thirteen yet. She’d said her nameday was in the spring. Her age didn’t trouble him but he knew there were those who would disapprove of their relationship if they knew. He could hardly remember a time in his life in which that last was not a thing he could say. Strange relations didn’t seem so strange to him. He let his eyes rest for a moment, wondering if there was truly something wrong with him, the way Vara had claimed.

The darkness was absolute and inescapable. Nothing could have prevented it. Nothing could have caused it. It simply was. He forged his way through it doggedly, his booted footsteps sounding loud each time they touched the stone floor. Only the sound told him what he trod on, he could see nothing except a small light in the distance. He’d been trying to reach it for some time but no matter how many steps he took it never seemed to get closer. He paused to scrub a hand through his hair in the darkness. There was something familiar about all this.

_ How long has it been since we left the _ Snow Goose, he wondered, then,  _ Did we? I don’t ... _ They hadn’t, he realised and with that thought the haze lifted from his mind and he knew where he was.  _ The damned dreamworld. The dreams that are real. Not again _ .

He heard voices whispering all around him. He thought now that they had been there for a while but his footsteps had drowned them out. There seemed to be a dozen or more of them, men and women. He couldn’t hear their words but some instinct made his heart beat faster.  _ Danger. There is danger here _ . Not that there had ever not been danger when he chanced to visit this place.

The flickering light in the distance called to him but he put it out of his mind. It wasn’t the first time it had called to him, and he had more important concerns just then. He needed to wake up. He needed ... what?  _ A quick way back to the Theren is what I need. That and a cure for the taint and a way to defeat the Dark One _ . He snorted to himself.  _ The moon on a pendant would be nice, too _ .

The light of the moon nearly blinded him. He flinched away from the sudden glare, shielding his eyes with the back of his arm. When he dared lower it again, the dark corridor was gone and in its place was a lavish palace garden. The grass was as green as grass could be. Songbirds sang from the branches of the trees and a summer sun shone overhead. It was bright, that sun, but no heat warmed his skin. He had the feeling you could stand under it for hours and never get burnt.

The woman who owned the garden certainly hadn’t been burnt. She sat on a marble bench as though it was a throne and her skin was as pale as snow. She was beautiful, with long jet-black hair and a striking figure. Her eyes were large and dark and they regarded him warmly, but it was not her beauty or her affection that made him shiver. He knew this woman. Everyone did, for her name was used to frighten children the world over. Lanfear, the Forsaken.

“It has been some time since we last spoke, Lews Therin,” she said, smiling in a way that made his heart race, even knowing what she was. “You have been hiding your tracks, as I told you. This pleases me. And I am even more pleased that you would seek me out of your own accord, even if it does mean you making free use of my domain. I could allow such an indignity in your case. No-one else’s, only yours, my love.”

“Don’t—” he began angrily, and then stopped himself. Rejecting her mad claims would be dangerous. She didn’t really love him, of course; he was nowhere near foolish enough to think otherwise. She was a Forsaken; he doubted she was capable of loving anyone, except possibly herself. But her strange fixation on him—or more accurately Lews Therin Telamon, whom he was supposedly the reincarnation of—was the only thing stopping her from trying to kill him. And almost certainly succeeding. It would be best not to make her angry. “Don’t mind if I do,” he continued in a tight voice. “Ah, nice garden you have here.”

The warmth was gone like summer snow. “It doesn’t exist anymore,” she said flatly.

_ You probably shouldn’t have helped the Dark One destroy it all then _ , he definitely did not say.

“Pity,” he muttered. “Does anything in this place really exist, come to think of it? What about, say, a Portal Stone? Could you use one here like we did before?”

She laughed musically. “No, and it would serve no purpose if you could. The World of Dreams is a part of all worlds; a constant, if ever-shifting, star in a multiverse of uncertainties. The Lines of If are a part of it, too, so there is no need to visit them here.”

Most of that made no sense to Rand but he understood “no” well enough.

“What if you wanted to find a Portal Stone?” he persisted. “Could you use this place for that?”

Lanfear adjusted her skirts as though offended by something. “From where comes this sudden interest in Portal Stones, Lews Therin?”

He shrugged and did not correct her on the name, no matter how much he wanted to. “Well they might help me evade the other Forsaken if they come after me like Asha’bellanar did.”

A small frown tightened her fine brows. “Asha’bellanar? What of her?”

“She tried to kill me.”

Anger flared on that beautiful face, twisting it into something else. “How dare she!?”

“She didn’t seem very lacking in daring to me,” he said dryly.

Lanfear looked murderous, and Rand dared to hope the Forsaken might turn against each other, but he had a more immediate concern. He hadn’t actually sought her out, whatever she claimed, but this was an opportunity he could not afford to let go to waste. Lanfear had shown herself to be well versed in the use of Portal Stones before, and with the Ways closed to him the Stones were his only possible means of getting back to the Theren in time to be of any help to his friends.

“You knew the positions of the Portal Stones around Kinslayer’s Dagger, do you also know of any near the Mountains of Mist, or Aringill? That’s a city in western Andor.”

“And where you currently are.” She smiled at his look of alarm. “Oh you may hide your tracks from the others, Lews Therin, but you can never hide from me. You are mine. Always.”

Wariness was all well and good but there was only so much he could take. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

Her smiled only grew broader. “So stubborn. You always were, but I would have it no other way. Victory, like pleasure, is all the sweeter when one must work for it.” She rose from her bench and came to stand before him. She was tall enough that she only had to look up a little to meet his eyes. She traced one finger slowly along the line of his jaw, while he forced himself not to flinch away. “Perhaps it is time I showed you ...”

Rand couldn’t keep from clenching his jaw against her touch. “The Stones,” he insisted stubbornly. “I need to move quickly. Are there any in the locations I mentioned? Do you know their signs?”

It took two signs to move through a Portal Stone. One for the Stone you wanted to go to, and one for the world it was in. He already knew the sign for this world, the true world. Or what he thought—and hoped!—was the true world.  _ What if it isn’t? Could we all just be twisted reflections of some other world, sadly deluded into thinking we are more? _ It was a horrible thought, and he pushed it firmly out of his mind.

“So stubborn,” Lanfear repeated, but it did not sound a compliment this time. “I should—” She shook herself and restored her seductive mask. “The Portal Stones. Yes. I know a great deal about them, as I know a great deal about all things. You will find no more knowledgeable partner than I, Lews Therin. There is a Stone not far to the east of your Aringill, in the place called Braem Wood; you can use it to escape your pursuers. Or better yet, use it to claim a power with which you could destroy them.” A hungry light burned in her eyes. “Hear me. I have located  _ Callandor _ . It lies in a place called Tear, far to the southeast. If you were armed with that, even Asha’bellanar would not dare to oppose you.”

Rand already knew about  _ Callandor _ but decided against pointing that out. Her moods were so changeable; it was best not to prod her too much. “I see. Tear isn’t far from the Mountains of Mist; do you happen to also know where the nearest Portal Stone to them is? And its symbol?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she took so long to answer that he grew nervous. “Yes,” she said at last, drawing the word out. “There is a Stone not far from a lovely waterfall in those mountains. I visited it myself. Its key is thus.” An airy wave of her hand caused a series of glowing lines to appear in midair. Rand vaguely recalled a time he might have gaped at such a thing; now he just studied the symbol intently, trying to commit it to memory. It looked a bit like a stick figure of a man about to throw a ball.

“Thank you,” he said stiffly, while privately hoping that Lanfear wasn’t playing him for a fool.

“Oh. You will. I grow impatient with our play, Lews Therin. I will visit you again soon.”

Her smile haunted his dreams even after the World of Dreams had faded away and true sleep came to replace it.


	16. Ogier's Oath

CHAPTER 13: Ogier’s Oath

It had taken Perrin a while to realise he was dreaming. He wasn’t sure exactly when he realised he was back in that strange place where dreams were real. Somewhere between those horrible images of his sisters screaming in pain and the strange visions of Rand perhaps.

In one of those, Rand had been reaching for a sword that seemed to be made of crystal, never seeing the fine net dropping over him. In another, he was kneeling in a chamber where a parched wind blew dust across the floor, and creatures like the one on the Dragon banner, but much smaller, floated on that wind, and settled into his skin. Neither dream made much sense to Perrin but their very strangeness was enough to waken him to consciousness, if not to waken him in truth, unfortunately.

He had spent the time since wandering the wilds, calling for Hopper and trying to force himself to wake up. But Hopper did not answer and his dreams persisted.

Now he stood atop a high, flat-topped stone spire, the wind ruffling his hair, bringing a thousand dry scents and a faint hint of water hidden in the far distance. For an instant he thought he had the form of a wolf, and fumbled at his own body to make sure what he saw was really him. He wore his own coat, breeches and boots; he held his bow, and his quiver hung at his side. The axe was not there.

Rugged mountains surrounded him, and other tall spires separated by arid flats and jumbled ridges, and sometimes a large plateau rising with sheer sides. Things grew, but nothing lush. Tough, short grass. Bushes wiry and covered with thorn, and other things that even seemed to have thorns on their fat leaves. Scattered, stunted trees, twisted by the wind. Yet wolves could find hunting even in this land.

As he peered at this rough land, a circle of darkness suddenly blanked out a part of the mountains; he could not have said whether the darkness was right in front of his face or halfway to the mountains, but he seemed to be seeing through it, and beyond. Mat, rattling a dice cup. His opponent stared at Mat with eyes of purest blackness. Mat did not seem to see the man, but Perrin knew him.

“Mat!” he shouted. “It’s Ba’alzamon! Light, Mat, you’re dicing with Ba’alzamon!”

Mat made his toss, and as the dice spun, the vision faded, and the dark place was dry mountains again.

Sighing deeply, Perrin wandered on. He hoped this would end soon. He had a long journey ahead of him, and needed to get some real sleep before he set off.

When he woke up, the sun was already high in the sky but Perrin felt as though he’d only slept a few hours. The dreams had persisted throughout the night, no matter his efforts to shut them out.

He could recall some of them more vividly than he would have liked to. There had been some nasty ones about Mat. Mat, placing his own left eye on a balance scale. Mat, hanging by his neck from a tree limb. There had been a dream of Mat and Seanchan, too. And one about Mat speaking the Old Tongue. He hadn’t liked those, but he’d liked the one about Anna attacking him with his own axe even less.

In another dream, Nynaeve and Elayne had stood looking at a huge metal cage, with a raised door held on a heavy spring. They stepped in and reached up together to loose the catch. The barred door snapped down behind them. A woman with her hair all in braids laughed at them, and another woman all in white laughed at her. That didn’t worry him as much as the ones about Mat. He did not think anyone needed to look after Nynaeve; around Nynaeve, to his mind, other people needed someone to look after them.

Such sleep as he had managed had been broken and fitful. When he slept, he dreamed of mounting a gallows, and Zarine watching, or worse, trying to stop it, trying to fight Whitecloaks with their lances and swords, and he was screaming while they fitted the noose around his neck, screaming because the Whitecloaks were killing Zarine. Sometimes she watched them hang him with a smile of angry satisfaction. Small wonder such dreams wakened him with a jerk. Once he had dreamed of wolves running out of the forest to save both Zarine and him—only to be spitted on Whitecloak lances, shot down by their arrows. It had not been a restful night.

He didn’t know why he kept dreaming of Zarine. She had seemed to want to stay with him the night before, but he had told her to go to sleep and firmly shut the door in her face. He’d had a fleeting curiosity as to what might have happened if he’d let her stay, but dismissed the thought as unworthy. Perhaps that was what had stirred his imagination.

The narrow window of his cabin on the  _ Snow Goose _ let in little light but the candle kept things bright, brighter than Perrin preferred to be honest.

_ Wait. I did not light any candle _ .

“You talk to yourself. And thrash in your sleep.”

He jumped, and cursed himself for not having noticed the herbal scent in the air. Zarine sat on a stool at the edge of the candlelight, elbow on her knee, chin on her fist, watching him.

“You are  _ ta’veren _ ,” she said as if ticking off a point. “Stone-face thinks those odd eyes of yours can see things his can’t. Grey Men want to kill you. You travel with an Aes Sedai, a Warder, an Ogier and people who Aes Sedai claim are the Dragon Reborn and the sounder of the Horn of Valere. You free caged Aiel and kill Whitecloaks. Who are you, farmboy? Whoever you are you could do with a little more hair on your chin.”

He twisted around, cursing, and scrabbled one of the blankets over him to his neck.  _ Light, she keeps making me jump like a frog on a hot rock _ . Zarine’s face was at the edge of shadows, the harsh illumination casting its own shadows across her strong nose and high cheekbones. Suddenly he remembered Min saying he should run from a beautiful woman. He had thought Min must mean Lanfear—he did not think it was possible for a woman to be any more beautiful than Lanfear—but she had only appeared in his dreams. Zarine was sitting there staring at him with those dark, tilted eyes, considering, weighing.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “What do you want? Who are you?”

She threw back her head and laughed. “I am Faile, farmboy, a Hunter of the Horn. Who do you think I am, the woman of your dreams? Why did you jump that way? You would think I had goosed you.”

“Maybe it has something to do with strange girls sneaking into my room and watching me sleep?” he growled. “How would you feel if someone did that to you?”

“It would depend on who it was.”

After an uncomfortable silence, Perrin cleared his throat and pointed at the door. “I need to get dressed.”

Zarine smiled. “I’m not stopping you.”

“Yes you are!” he said angrily. “Wait outside.”

Her soft laughter lingered in the air after she left, and the confused thoughts she stirred lingered in Perrin’s mind. She took the candle with her though, at least there was that.

The ship was alive with activity when he emerged from his cabin, freshly washed and with a clean change of clothes. Nothing so fancy as Rand had taken to wearing, just good serviceable Theren clothes in brown and white. Rand himself was nowhere to be seen and judging from the guards on duty outside his cabin, he hadn’t risen yet. That wasn’t like him; Rand was usually up early. But then the Rand Perrin knew would have rushed home to help Emond’s Field, not started listing reasons why he shouldn’t. He didn’t consider their conversation from last night concluded, but whether Rand intended to come home with him or not, Perrin had plans to make.

There was more room on the  _ Snow Goose _ this time than there had been on their trip from Remen, with Captain Adarra having off-loaded much of her cargo at Aringill. The captain didn’t look particularly happy as she leaned on the rail of her quarterdeck. She’d probably wanted to take on some goods to trade downriver, though she hadn’t objected at all when asked to cast off early.

The three Aiel crouched by the main mast, pretending not to see the half dozen Shienaran soldiers relaxing on deck. Well-armed Shienaran soldiers, who just happened to have the Aiel in sight at all times, or so they tried to seem. In turn, the Tar Valoni sailors were trying their best to pretend they had the ship to themselves and that they weren’t at all worried that a fight might break out at any moment. Of the three groups, the Tar Valoni were doing the worst acting.

Loial sat at the forecastle working on his book, with Anna, Min and Zarine sitting close by. Perrin made his way over to join them. None of the three girls had hair long enough to tie into a proper Theren braid, but Zarine was the most girlish of them, and not just because she was the only one in skirts. Her straight black hair hung just long enough to brush the tops of her shoulders, while Min’s messier but nearly as dark locks curled around her ears. Anna’s hair was a lighter shade of brown and cut shorter than either of the others. He tried to tell himself that his eyes were only drawn to Zarine because she dressed in a more womanly fashion than the other two.

Loial grinned at the sight of him. “Good morning, Perrin,” he rumbled. “You slept well? Not easy, after such a night as that. Myself, I have been up half the night, writing down what happened.” He had a pen in his hand, and ink stains on his sausage-thick fingers.

“He didn’t sleep well at all, poor boy,” said Zarine.

Perrin flushed. Min and Loial took a sudden interest in anything but him, and Anna’s face went very blank.  _ That ... that ... She bloody well knows what that could imply! The girl is toying with me! _ He tamped down his annoyance, refusing to be baited by her.

“I couldn’t sleep either,” Min sighed. “I kept trying to list all the people who know about me and, ah, the item. But I couldn’t remember exactly who saw it and who didn’t. I suppose the best I can hope for is that the folk at The Riverman were too focused on the other revelation to notice what you said about me.”

“I’m sorry, Min,” he said solemnly. “I know you are trying to keep it secret. I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that.”

She gave a little shrug. “Mistakes happen, don’t beat yourself up over it. Besides, like I said, there are other people who probably know about me. Those refugees we met back in Falmerden, for example. Maybe it’s too much to hope that I can keep anyone else from finding out.”

“Light forbid you be unable to hide. How did  _ you _ become the Hornsounder?” Zarine asked with barely concealed incredulity, and no little scorn.

“Rand gave me the Horn at Falme,” Min sighed. Then her cheeks coloured. “The Horn of Valere, I mean.”

A small smirk danced across Zarine’s lips. “He chose you to sound it? He must trust you a lot.”

Min smiled wryly. “I’d like that be the explanation. It sounds nice. But that’s not how it happened. It was more a case of his shoving it into the arms of the nearest person. Who just happened to be me.”

“A coincidence, a mere coincidence,” Zarine said bitterly, after a moment’s pause.

Min gave another shrug. “Call it fate if it makes you feel better. Stranger things have happened. And will happen.”

“And where is the Horn now?”

“I don’t think I should tell you that,” said Min, all her smiles suddenly gone.

“Agreed,” said Anna. “That knowledge should be kept to the Inner Circle. Which I doubt Zarine will be joining.”

The Saldaean narrowed her eyes. “What is this ‘Inner Circle’? And my name is Faile, as I have told you.”

“They’re Rand’s most trusted friends and counsellors,  _ Zarine _ ,” said Anna with a satisfied smile.

Min leaned back and closed her eyes, letting the wind ruffle her hair. “It’s much too nice a morning to be arguing. What’s so bad about the name ‘Zarine’ anyway? It’s pretty.”

“It’s a soft name, fit for women who like to laze about and be coddled. You can take it if you want.”

Perrin thought Min might have sympathised with that. She had a longer name of her own—Elmindreda—which she shared with a silly girl from a song, just as Zarine did, and which she hated to use, just as Zarine did. But her sigh held barely concealed impatience.

“Well. Nice as it is, it definitely doesn’t suit you. We can agree on that,” Min said flatly. “I think I’ll go see if Rand has dragged himself out of bed yet, the lazy lump. Keep up the good work, Loial, it seems to be coming along nicely.” She got to her feet and sauntered off, moving easily with the sway of the ship despite her city-born background. She quite pointedly did not look at Zarine as she passed.

“I think I’ll come with you,” said Anna, and matched action to words.

“Charming pair,” Zarine said curtly, after they had left.

“They are aren’t they?” Loial agreed. He somehow managed to miss Zarine’s brief toothy smile, just as he had her sarcasm.

Perrin stepped into the silence. “I need to go back to the Theren, Loial. I was hoping you would help me.”

The Ogier gave an uncomfortable shrug. “But my book. Rand’s story. And yours, and Mat’s. I have so many notes already, but ...” He peered down at the open book in his lap, the pages filled with his neat script. “I will be the one to write the true story of the Dragon Reborn, Perrin. The only book by someone who travelled with him, who actually saw it unfold. The Dragon Reborn, by Loial, son of Arent son of Halan, of Stedding Shangtai.” Frowning he bent over the book, dipping his pen in the ink bottle. “That is not quite right. It was more—”

Perrin put a hand on the page where Loial was going to write. “You’ll write no book if your mother finds you. Not about Rand, at least. And I need you, Loial.”

“Need, Perrin? I do not understand.”

“There are Whitecloaks in the Theren. Hunting me.”

“Hunting you? But why?” Loial looked almost as confused as Zarine had. Zarine, on the other hand had donned a complacent smugness that was worrisome. Perrin went on anyway.

“The reasons don’t matter. The fact is that they are. They may hurt people, my family, looking for me. Knowing Whitecloaks, they will. I can stop it, if I can get there quickly, but it must be quickly. The Light only knows what they’ve done already. I need you to take me there, Loial, by the Ways. I know there was a Waygate at Manetheren. It must still be there, in the mountains above Emond’s Field. Nothing can destroy a Waygate, you said. I need you, Loial.”

“Well, of course I will help,” Loial said. “The Ways.” He exhaled noisily, and his ears wilted a bit. “I want to write of adventures, not have them. But I suppose one more time will not hurt. The Light send it so,” he finished fervently.

Zarine cleared her throat delicately. “Are you not forgetting something, Loial? You promised to take me into the Ways whenever I asked, and before you took anyone else.”

“I did promise you a look at a Waygate,” Loial said, “and what it is like inside. You can have that when Perrin and I go. You could come with us, I suppose, but the Ways are not travelled lightly, Faile. I would not enter them myself if Perrin did not have need.”

“Zarine will not be coming,” Perrin said firmly. “Just you and me, Loial.” Unless Rand came to his senses.

Ignoring him, Zarine smiled up at Loial as if he were teasing her. “You promised more than a look, Loial. To take me wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and before anyone else. You swore to it.”

“I did,” Loial protested, “but only because you refused to believe I would show you. You said you would not believe unless I swore. I will do as I promised, but surely you do not want to step ahead of Perrin’s need.”

“You swore,” Zarine said calmly. “By your mother, and your mother’s mother, and your mother’s mother’s mother.”

“Yes, I did, Faile, but Perrin—”

“You swore, Loial. Do you mean to break your oath?”

The Ogier looked like misery stacked on misery. His shoulders slumped and his ears drooped, the corners of his wide mouth turned down and the ends of his long eyebrows draggled onto his cheeks.

“She tricked you, Loial.” Perrin wondered if they could hear his teeth grinding. “She deliberately tricked you.”

Red stained Zarine’s cheeks, but she still had the nerve to say, “Only because I had to, Loial. Only because a fool man thinks he can order my life to suit himself. I’d not have done it, otherwise. You must believe that.”

“Doesn’t it make any difference that she tricked you?” Perrin demanded, and Loial shook his massive head sadly.

“Ogier keep their word,” Zarine said. “And Loial is going to take me to the Theren. Or to the Waygate at Manetheren, at least. I have a wish to see the Theren.”

Loial stood up straight, “But that means I can help Perrin after all. Faile, why did you drag this out? Even Laefar would not think this funny.” There was a touch of anger in his voice; it took a good bit to make an Ogier angry.

“If he asks,” she said determinedly. “That was part of it, Loial. No one but you and me, unless they asked me. He has to ask me.”

“No,” Perrin told her while Loial was still opening his mouth. “No, I won’t ask. I will ride to Emond’s Field first. I’ll walk! So you might as well give up this foolishness. Tricking Loial. Trying to force yourself in where ... where you aren’t wanted.”

Her calm dropped away in anger. “And by the time you reach there, Loial and I will have done for the Whitecloaks. It will all be over. Ask, you anvil-headed blacksmith. Just ask and you can come with us.”

Perrin took hold of himself. There was no way to argue her around to his way of thinking, but he would not ask. She was right—he would need weeks to reach the Theren on his horse; they could be there in days, perhaps, through the Ways—but he would not ask.  _ Not after she tricked Loial and tried to bully me! _ “Then I’ll travel the Ways to Manetheren alone. I’ll follow you two. If stay far enough back not to be part of your party, I won’t be breaking Loial’s oath. You can’t stop me following.”

“That is dangerous, Perrin,” Loial said worriedly. “The Ways are dark. If you miss a turning, or take the wrong bridge by accident, you could be lost forever. Or until  _ Machin Shin _ catches you. Ask her, Perrin. She said you can come if you do. Ask her.”

The Ogier’s deep voice trembled speaking the name of  _ Machin Shin _ , and a shiver ran down Perrin’s back, too.  _ Machin Shin _ . The Black Wind. Not even Aes Sedai knew whether it was Shadowspawn or something that had grown out of the Ways’ corruption.  _ Machin Shi _ n was why travelling the Ways meant risking death; that was what Aes Sedai said. The Black Wind ate souls; that Perrin knew for truth. But he kept his voice steady and his face straight.  _ I’ll be burned if I let her think I am weakening.  _ “I can’t, Loial. Or anyway, I won’t.”

Loial grimaced. “Faile, it will be dangerous for him, trying to follow us. Please relent and let him—” She cut him off sharply.

“No. If he is too stiff-necked to ask, why should I? Why should I even care if he does get lost?” She turned to Perrin. “You can travel close to us. As close as you need to, so long as it’s plain you are following. You will trail after me like a puppy until you ask. Why won’t you just ask?”

“Stubborn humans,” the Ogier muttered. “Hasty and stubborn, even when haste lands you in a hornet nest.”

“I would like to leave as soon as we can find a Waygate, Loial,” Perrin said, not looking at Zarine.

“Best to go quickly,” Loial agreed with a regretful look at the book on the table. “I can tidy my notes on the journey, I suppose. The Light knows what I will miss, being away from Rand. Unless ... is he coming with us?”

“Did you hear me, Perrin?” Zarine demanded.

“I doubt it. Rand says he might make things worse for them. And besides,  _ Machin Shin _ is chasing him. He can’t use the Ways,” Perrin said.

“Burn you, Perrin Aybara, answer me!”

Loial eyed her worriedly. “Perrin, are you certain you could not—”

“No,” Perrin interrupted gently. “She is muleheaded, and she likes playing tricks. I won’t dance so she can laugh.” He ignored the sound coming from deep in Zarine’s throat, like a cat staring at a strange dog and ready to attack. “I will let you know as soon as I am ready.” He turned away, and she called after him furiously.

“ ‘When’ is my decision, Perrin Aybara. Mine and Loial’s. Do you hear me? You had better be ready when we decide, or we’ll leave you behind. Do you hear me?”

He sensed her moving and step aside just as a book flew past the place where he had been and thumped to the deck, drawing stares from the sailors and knowing looks from the Shienarans. Loial would give her fits about that. Better to hit Loial on the head than harm one of his books.

So she was going to be there to see him die anyway. The best thing he could say was that she might enjoy it now.  _ Stubborn, muleheaded woman! _

Gaul had watched the exchange along with everyone else, but the Aiel’s face showed no hint as to what he thought of it. He detached himself from their small group and approached Perrin. “May you find shade this morning, Perrin Aybara. I overheard your talk. As hard as a Wise One, that woman.”

“May you find shade this morning, Gaul,” Perrin said, assuming the greeting was some kind of Aiel formality. “Women are all hardheaded, if you ask me.”

“Perhaps so, if you do not know how to get ’round them. You are journeying to the Theren.”

“As soon as I can.”

Gaul nodded. “I mean to accompany you.”

“Come with me?” Perrin felt stunned. If he had Aiel with him ... There were possibilities he had not dared consider before. “Rand asked you to come with me? To the Theren?”

“I have not spoken to Rand al’Thor since my first encounter. I think he avoids us. But I have  _ toh _ to you, so I will come to this Theren, if you will have me.”

“Will I?” Perrin almost laughed. “I will that. But what about your search?”

“Bain, Chiad and I were not the only searchers in that region. I sent others to report what we had learned.”

“Well if that’s your decision I certainly won’t complain. We will be using the Ways to get there quickly.”

“The Ways?” Gaul’s expression did not change, but he blinked.

“Does that make a difference?”

“Death comes for all men, Perrin.” It was hardly a comforting answer.

Perrin thought things were starting to shape up but the sudden arrival of Hurin called everything into question. The sniffer gave Gaul a wary look before speaking.

“Lord Rand wants everyone to gather in the cargo hold, Perrin. The Inner Circle, I mean. He has a plan.”

“I see,” he said grimly. Whatever Rand was up to, he just hoped it didn’t involve Loial or the Aiel. And if it did, he hoped Rand would be open to reason, because Perrin very much feared Emond’s Field was running out of time.


	17. City of Secrets

CHAPTER 14: City of Secrets

Mical was a lousy card player but at least he made a gracious loser. Mat Cauthon would have preferred more of a challenge, and higher stakes, but gambling for coppers at least passed the time. He casually dropped another coin on the pile, not bothering to look at the hand he’d drawn. He already knew it was almost certainly a winner. When Mical met his bet and revealed a pair of lowly Cups as his hand, Mat smirked half-heartedly before flipping over his own cards. Mical looked them over for a moment, before his mouth turned down morosely. They sat at the table in Mat’s room in the White Tower, the remains of the meal Mical had brought, and Mat had shared with him, pushed aside to make room for the game.

“Another victory, Master Cauthon. It is well for me that the sisters pay a generous wage,” Mical sighed.

Mat grunted. He’d had more than enough of Aes Sedai generosity. For more than half a year he’d been imprisoned in the White Tower. His father hadn’t been allowed to see him when he’d come looking, and then to make things even worse Joline bloody Maza had gone and stuck a light-blasted Warder bond in him. She was several floors above his room here in the Tower now. He could tell her location even when he didn’t want to know. That the bond had made him a bit stronger and faster wasn’t close to being a fair trade for the unwelcome intrusion, so far as Mat was concerned.

“Another hand?”

Mat shrugged. “Why not?”

Mical shuffled the cards while Mat brooded. He’d never thought himself a broody fellow before. That was more Perrin’s nature, though Rand liked to indulge in it a bit as well. He was the one that always had to persuade them not to be stick-in-the-muds and get the party started. Imprisonment could change a man if he let it. Mat was determined not to let it change him, but it was hard sometimes.

It hadn’t been so bad before they insisted he was to have only male company. He’d managed to find ways to keep himself busy back before then, but the Amyrlin Seat—burn her—had put an end to that.

Nowadays he spent most of his time with the male clerks. Mical was the least offensive of those even if, like most Tar Valoni, he thought the Light shone out of the Amyrlin’s backside. He was a handsome man, too—slender, yellow-haired and clean-shaven—but Mat wasn’t interested in him in that way. That habit the Tar Valoni had of fawning after the Aes Sedai was too much of a turn off.

“Do you ever think of striking out on your own, Mical, and seeing the world?” he said abruptly. “You said you’d been working here nearly ten years, you must be bored of it by now.”

He looked surprised, though Mat had hardly made a secret of his own desires in that regard. “Not at all. Tar Valon is the centre of the world, and the White Tower is the centre of Tar Valon. Here I can help the Aes Sedai in their vital work, in my own small way. What greater calling could there be?”

_ Shovelling manure on my parents’ farm, Light help me _ , Mat thought.  _ Even that was preferable to this. At least when I was done I could go see my friends _ . “Never mind,” he muttered.

When a fist pounded on the door, he did not even bother to stand. He felt numb at the core and scraped raw on the surface. Blaeric pushed into the room without asking. The Warder ignored Mical as though he was a piece of furniture. “Joline wants you, Cauthon,” he said.

Mat glanced at the man once, and then pointedly ignored him. “Tell Joline I don’t want to see her, Blaeric.” The last thing he wanted was to be forced to listen to more of the Aes Sedai’s nonsense about the duty he owed as her Warder now. As if she hadn’t tricked him into it!

“She wants you now, Cauthon.”

The nasty look Mat gave him only deepened the Shienaran’s scowl. Mat took some small satisfaction in recalling their last encounter on the practice field, and thought longingly of the quarterstaff he wasn’t permitted to bring with him into the Tower itself. Blaeric’s sword rode his hip and one gauntleted hand was tight on the hilt.

With a sigh, Mat got to his feet and swept his coins from the table into his purse. Blaeric looked as if he might try to drag him, otherwise. In his own current mood, he thought he might put a knife in the man if he tried. And get his neck broken for his pains; a Warder would not take a knife in the ribs lightly.

“Some other time, Mical.”

“Of course. My regards to the sister,” the clerk replied, seemingly oblivious to Mat’s sour look.

A second Warder waited for them outside. Fen Mizar, a Saldaean by his accent, didn’t much like Mat, and the disregard was mutual. Fen seemed not to like much except for Joline. He and Blaeric both liked Joline a lot. The pair of them talked alike, thought alike, moved alike.

“What is this about?” Mat said crossly, tugging his collar up as he shrugged into his plain brown coat.

“She’ll tell you what it’s about, Cauthon,” Blaeric said unhelpfully.

The Warders flanked Mat as they steered him through the Tower’s halls and up the various ramps and stairways that circled the great building’s innards. He imagined they looked very much like what they were: guards escorting a prisoner.

The White Flame of Tar Valon could be found everywhere in the White Tower, on banners and livery, shining on fanciful metalwork and on polished floor tiles. But in the section of the Tower set aside for the quarters of the Green Ajah, to which the Warders brought him, the teardrop was depicted in green instead of white, at least on the tiles.

Most of the women he saw there wore green as well and no matter their differing heights, weights and colouring they all had that ageless look with which Mat had become all-too familiar. They all wore arrogance like a cloak as well, and regarded Mat with raised chins and knowing eyes as he was led past. The Warders stopped before the door Mat had known they’d stop at, and Fen knocked quietly.

Joline’s voice answered Fen’s knock, bidding them enter.

Her room was as luxurious as he’d expected it to be, brightly lit, with thick carpets and rich furnishings on which were scattered an inn’s worth of silk cushions. The heavy wardrobe—no, wardrobes—bulged with clothes and a queen’s ransom of jewellery was scattered across the mirrored dress stand. Joline herself sat on a couch near the window, reading a small wood-bound book. Slender and pretty and big-eyed, she was an Aes Sedai to the inch and arrogance on a stick.

“I’ve been waiting, Mat, and I know Blaeric and Fen are not the cause of this tardiness. Do not make me wait again,” she said sternly.

Mat had Joline pegged by now, and petulant, wilful and spoiled were the words that came most readily to mind. “I can’t make you do anything, Joline,” he said with a cheeky smile, one that showed more teeth than it once would have. “I mean, just look at that window. Fully closed, and never a splat to be heard.”

Blaeric poked a finger between Mat’s shoulder blades. “Mind your tongue.”

Mat closed his eyes and prayed for patience. “Love to. Just give me a moment to remember what happened the last time you did that. It always calms my nerves.”

When he opened his eyes, he found Joline frowning at him as though he was a puzzle she had never seen before. Through the bond, he could feel what she felt. Offense at his tone, smug self-assurance and, oddly, genuine bewilderment. “How do you do it, Mat? How can you refuse my commands? I am Aes Sedai and you are my Warder.”

Mat snorted disdainfully. “I’m no Warder. Save that description for this pair of whipped hounds. As to ‘commands’, Mat Cauthon doesn’t take orders from anyone. Even the oh, so glorious Aes Sedai.”  _ Especially the bloody Aes Sedai _ .

She studied him silently, her book open in her lap and her chin resting on one small fist. “He doesn’t know,” she said at last, talking low, as though to herself. “He is a fool and whatever he is doing is not deliberate. But what causes it then?”

_ A fool am I? Well, maybe I am, to have ever let myself get into this mess. But this fool will have his day, Aes Sedai. Somehow, I’ll escape this damned Tower and if I never see you or any of your sisters again after that, it will be too soon! _

How exactly he could escape, Mat did not know. He’d exhausted plan after plan in the months before Joline put her bond on him. As much as he hated the idea, he was starting to fear he’d never escape this place unless he could find someone to help him. And in this place, where the Aes Sedai were practically worshipped, help was hard to find.

* * *

The lone, broken-topped mountain called Dragonmount, rising out of the rolling plain, had first appeared on the horizon late the afternoon before, as they’d approached the bridge over the River Antaeo. It was a landmark, that mountain—one jagged fang sticking up out of rolling flatlands—easily seen for many miles, easy to avoid, as all did, even those who went to Tar Valon. Dragonmount was where Lews Therin Kinslayer had died, so it was said; and other words had been spoken of the mountain, prophecy and warning. Rich reasons to stay away from its black slopes. In the distance, all Nynaeve could see was something indistinct, gleaming white in the morning sunlight. It had to be the city on the island, though.

_ Back in Tar Valon _ . The thought didn’t please her. She had good reasons to want, and need, to return to the White Tower, but she was not looking forward to being a student again. She tugged at the thick braid of dark hair hanging over her shoulder, only half-aware she was doing it.

This early in the year, with winter only yesterday’s memory, white still capped Dragonmount, but here below, the snows were melted. Early shoots poked through the matted brown of last year’s grasses, and where trees topped a low hill here and there, the first red of new growth was showing. After a winter spent travelling it was good to see signs of spring.

“Don’t worry, you won’t be staying here long. I’ll see you safely home,” she heard Elayne say softly. Looking back over her shoulder, she found the Daughter-Heir patting Red’s neck comfortingly. Her own horse, Lioness, walked beside her, the white mare’s reins tied to the cantle of her saddle, but it was Rand’s old horse that Elayne had chosen to ride on their way to Tar Valon. Nynaeve very politely refrained from commenting on that. Elayne was a very beautiful girl, and surprisingly nice for someone raised in a palace. In normal circumstances, she would have approved of her obvious crush on Rand. Nothing about Rand’s circumstances was normal anymore though, not even where Nynaeve herself was concerned.

“Are you talking to the horse again?” Nynaeve asked, pulling her own horse, Muscles, closer. “Better you should be keeping watch.”

Elayne raised her chin in that annoying way she had and made a grand gesture with one hand, encompassing the soldiers that surrounded them. The armoured men in their white tabards had accompanied them since Navera, where Lady Casandra had insisted on providing an escort of her own armsmen for her honoured Aes Sedai guest. Verin had been happy to accept.

The girl wisely refrained from doing more than gesturing. “Nynaeve, do you think Rand and Min will be alright?”

“Nothing has been alright since Moiraine came into our lives,” Nynaeve said brusquely. “Rand and the others ...” She hesitated, grimacing. “They will have to take care of themselves for now. I’m afraid we have something to worry about ourselves. Something is not right. I can ... feel it.”

“Do you know what?” Elayne asked.

“It feels almost like a storm.” Nynaeve studied the morning sky, clear and blue, with only a few scattered white clouds, and she shook her head again. “Like a storm coming.” Nynaeve had always been able to foretell the weather. Listening to the wind, it was called, and the Wisdom of every village was expected to do it, though many really could not. Yet since leaving Emond’s Field, Nynaeve’s ability had grown, or changed. The storms she felt sometimes had to do with men rather than wind, now. “The feeling has been building the closer we get to Tar Valon.”

The both looked to the head of the column, where the Aes Sedai and her Warder rode alongside Lady Casandra’s grey-haired guard captain, Biron. Verin, short and plump and all in shades of brown, rode apparently lost in thought, the hood of her cloak pulled forward till it all but hid her face, in the lead but letting her horse amble at its own pace. She was of the Brown Ajah, and the Brown sisters usually cared more for seeking out knowledge than for anything in the world around them. Nynaeve was not so sure of Verin’s detachment, though. Verin had put herself hip-deep in the affairs of the world by being with them.

“Do you think Liandrin will be there?” asked Elayne. The girl didn’t sound afraid at the prospect of encountering the Aes Sedai who had betrayed them to the Seanchan, if anything she sounded eager. Elayne had more courage than sense. And a lot more experience in combat than she’d had when last they visited this city. The same was true of Nynaeve, for good or ill.

“If she is I will deal with her,” Nynaeve said flatly.

“She is a full Aes Sedai though, Nynaeve. It will be our word against hers. I can imagine what Verin would have to say about it.” Elayne sounded anxious. “I don’t know if my mother could help me if the Amyrlin denounced me, much less help you. Or even whether she would try.” Elayne’s mother was Queen of Andor. “She was only able to learn a little of the Power before she left the White Tower, for all she has lived as if she had been raised to full sister.”

“We cannot hope to rely on Morgase,” Nynaeve said. “She is in Caemlyn, and we will be in Tar Valon. No, we may be in enough trouble already for going off as we did. It will be best if we stay low, behave humbly, and do nothing to attract more attention than we already have.”

“You do?” Elayne said. Red-gold curls swung as she shook her head. “I imagine Verin will not like it either if we ...” She trailed off. “Whatever Verin likes or doesn’t like, we may have to.”

“I will do what must be done,” Nynaeve said sharply, “if there is anything to be done, and you will run, if need be. The White Tower may be all abuzz with your potential, but don’t think they will not Still you if the Amyrlin Seat or the Hall of the Tower decides it is necessary.”

Elayne swallowed hard. “If they would Still me for it,” she said in a faint voice, “they would Still you, too. We should run together; or act together.”

Nynaeve tried not to shiver. Stilled. Cut off from  _ saidar _ , the female half of the True Source. Few Aes Sedai had ever incurred that penalty, yet there were deeds for which the Tower demanded Stilling. Students were required to learn the names of every Aes Sedai who had ever been Stilled, and their crimes.

The prospect of losing the ability to channel would have been welcome to her once. But that was before her stay in the  _ stedding _ . The urge to touch the Source had been maddening, and the sheer relief she felt on finally leaving the  _ stedding _ and embracing  _ saidar _ again had shocked her. She could always feel the Source there, now, just out of sight, like the sun at noon over her shoulder. At least when she was angry. The more she touched it, the more she wanted to. To be cut off from it; still able to sense  _ saidar _ , but never to touch it again ...

Elayne looked as grim as Nynaeve felt.

“Riders,” Verin’s Warder, Tomas, said suddenly. No sooner had he spoke than two dozen men appeared over a low rise ahead, white cloaks flapping as they galloped, angling toward them.

“Children of the Light,” Elayne said, like a curse. “I think we have found your storm.”

Verin had pulled up, a hand on Biron’s arm to stop him drawing his sword. Nynaeve stopped just behind the plump Aes Sedai.

“Let me do all the talking, children,” the Aes Sedai said placidly, pushing her cowl back to reveal grey in her hair. Nynaeve was not sure how old Verin was; she thought old enough to be a grandmother, but the grey streaks were the Aes Sedai’s only signs of age. “And whatever you do, do not allow them to make you angry.” Verin’s face was as calm as her voice.

Beyond the oncoming riders, still in the distance, she could see the tops of towers and a high bridge arching over the river to the island, tall enough for the trading ships that plied the river to sail beneath. The proximity of Tar Valon didn’t do much to deflate the arrogance of the so-called Children of the Light however.

For a moment Nynaeve was sure the oncoming Whitecloaks meant to charge them, despite being outnumbered twice over by the Tar Valoni soldiers, but their leader raised a hand and they abruptly drew rein a scant forty paces off, scattering dust and dirt ahead of them.

Nynaeve muttered angrily under her breath, and Elayne sat straight and full of pride, appearing likely to berate the Whitecloaks for ill manners. Biron still had a grip on his sword hilt; he looked ready to put himself between the women and the Whitecloaks no matter what Verin said. Several of his men put their heels to their horse and rode up to join him. Verin mildly waved a hand in front of her face to dispel the dust. The white-cloaked riders spread out in an arc, blocking the way.

Their breastplates and conical helmets shone from polishing, and even the mail on their arms gleamed brightly. Each man had the flaring, golden sun on his breast. Some fitted arrows to short bows, which they did not raise, but held ready. Their leader was a young man, yet he wore two golden knots of rank beneath the sunburst on his cloak.

“Two Tar Valon witches, unless I miss my guess, yes?” he said with a tight smile that pinched his narrow face. Arrogance brightened his eyes, as if he knew some truth others were too stupid to see. “And a nit, and some lapdogs.” Biron bristled, but Verin’s hand restrained him. “Where do you come from?” the Whitecloak demanded.

“We come from the west,” Verin said placidly. “Move out of our way, and let us continue. The Children of the Light have no authority here.”

“The Children have authority wherever the Light is, witch, and where the Light is not, we bring it. Answer my questions! Or must I take you to our camp and let the Questioners ask?”

“I have answered you,” Verin said, still calm, “and more politely than you deserve. Do you really believe you can stop us?” Some of the Whitecloaks raised their bows as if she had uttered a threat, but she went on, her voice never rising. “In some lands you may hold sway by your threats, but not here, in Tar Valon. Can you truly believe that in this place, you will be allowed to carry off Aes Sedai?”

The officer shifted uneasily in his saddle, plainly doubting whether he could back up his words. Then he glanced back at his men—either to remind himself of their support or because he had remembered they were watching—and with that he took himself in hand. “I have no fear of your Darkfriend ways, witch. Answer me, or answer the Questioners.” He did not sound as forceful as he had.

Verin opened her mouth as if for idle conversation, but before she could speak, Elayne jumped in, voice ringing with command. “I am Elayne, Daughter-Heir of Andor. If you do not move aside a once, you will have Queen Morgase to answer to, Whitecloak!” Verin hissed with vexation.

The Whitecloak looked taken aback for an instant, but then he laughed. “You think it so, yes? Perhaps you will discover Morgase no longer has so much love for witches, girl. If I take you from them and return you to her side, she will thank me for it.” He raised a hand, whether to gesture or signal his men, Nynaeve could not say. Some of the Whitecloaks gathered their reins.

Verin regarded the Whitecloak wearily. She glanced at Elayne and shook her head, from which Nynaeve suspected the Daughter-Heir had embraced  _ saidar _ . She herself was still struggling to work up enough of a temper to feel the Source. “He is only trying to bully us, child. He knows very well that he cannot make us go where we do not want. Not here, in sight of Tar Valon. Oh, he might well try to kill us if he could do it from hiding, but no Whitecloak with the brains of a goat will try harming an Aes Sedai who knows he is there.”

The officer’s face had reddened when she mentioned hiding. “It is no cowardice not to charge the powers that Broke the World,” he burst out. “You witches want to Break the World again, in the service of the Dark One!”

Verin shook her head in tired disbelief but paid the Whitecloak no more attention than that, preferring to focus on Elayne. “You must learn there is a time to speak all of the truth, and a time to govern your tongue. The least of the lessons you must learn, but important, if you mean to live long enough to wear the shawl of a full sister. Impetuous children,” Verin sighed. “Almost as bad as boys for letting your mouths run away with you. Go with the Light, my son,” she told the Whitecloak.

Without another word, she guided them around the men in their path, with the Tar Valoni guards making a steel barrier between them. Nynaeve suspected it was an unnecessary gesture on their part.

As the rode on the Whitecloak officer’s shouts followed after. “My name is Dain Bornhald! Remember it, Darkfriends! I will make you fear my name! Remember my name!” His shouts faded behind them.

“Forgive me for speaking out of turn, Verin Sedai,” Biron said in his gravelly voice, “but the Amyrlin would do well to allow us to expel all of that sort from the nation. No matter how weak they are compared to Aes Sedai they are still more trouble than they’re worth.”

“The Greys would disagree, Captain. There can be no diplomacy if we close our borders.”

“As you say, Aes Sedai.”

“What did he mean about my mother?” Elayne said suddenly. “He must have been lying. She would never turn against Tar Valon.”

“Rumour takes wing along a hundred paths, twisting and turning until the truth becomes difficult to decipher. The Queens of Andor have always been friends to Tar Valon, but all things change.” Verin’s face was calm again, yet there was a tightness in her voice. She turned in her saddle to look over them. “The world is strange, and all things change. Always plan for the worst, child; that way, all your surprises will be pleasant ones.” They capped the ridge; a village was in sight ahead of them now, yellow tile roofs clustered around the great bridge that led to Tar Valon. “Now you must truly be on your guard,” Verin told them. “Now the real danger begins.”

The small village of Jualdhe had lain beside the River Erinin almost as long as Tar Valon had occupied its island. Jualdhe’s small, red and brown brick houses and shops, its stone-paved streets, gave a feel of permanence, but the village had been burned in the Trolloc Wars, sacked when Artur Hawkwing’s armies besieged Tar Valon, looted more than once during the War of the Hundred Years, and put to the torch again in the Aiel War, not quite twenty years before. An unquiet history for a little village, but Jualdhe’s place, at the foot of one of the bridges leading out to Tar Valon, ensured it would always be rebuilt, however many times it was destroyed. So long as Tar Valon stood, at least.

At first, it seemed to Nynaeve that Jualdhe was expecting war again. A square of pikemen marched along the streets, ranks and files bristling like a carding comb, followed by bowmen in flat, rimmed helmets, with filled quivers riding at their hips and bows slanted across their chests. A squadron of armoured horsemen, faces hidden behind the steel bars of their helmets, gave way to Verin and her party at a wave of their officer’s gauntleted hand. All wore the White Flame of Tar Valon, like a snowy teardrop, on their breasts.

Yet townspeople went about their business with apparent unconcern, the market throng dividing around the soldiers as if marching men were obstructions they were long used to. A few men and women carrying trays of fruit kept pace with the soldiers, trying to interest them in wrinkled apples and pears pulled from winter cellars, but aside from those few, shopkeepers and hawkers alike paid the soldiers no mind. Verin seemingly ignored them, too, as she led their party through the village to the great bridge, arching over half a mile or more of water like lace woven from stone.

At the foot of the bridge more soldiers stood guard, a dozen pikemen and half that many archers, checking everyone who wanted to cross. Their officer, a balding man with his helmet hanging on his sword hilt, looked harassed by the waiting line of people afoot and on horseback, people with carts drawn by oxen or horses or the owner. The line was only a hundred paces long, but every time one was let onto the bridge, another joined the far end. Just the same, the balding man seemed to be taking his time about making sure each one had a right to enter Tar Valon before he let them go.

He opened his mouth angrily when Verin led her party to the head of the line, then caught a good look at her face and hurriedly stuffed his helmet onto his head. No one who really knew them needed a Great Serpent ring to identify Aes Sedai. “Good morrow to you, Aes Sedai,” he said, bowing with a hand to his heart. “Good morrow. Go right across, if it please you.”

Verin reined in beside him. A murmur rose from the waiting line, but no one voiced a complaint aloud. “Trouble from the Whitecloaks, guardsman?”

“Not really, Aes Sedai,” the officer said. “No fighting. They tried to move into Eldone Market on the other side of the river, but we showed them better. The Amyrlin’s ordered recruitment to be stepped up though.”

Verin nodded, and would have ridden on, but the officer spoke again. “Pardon, Aes Sedai, but you’ve obviously come from a distance. Have you any news? Fresh rumours come upriver with every trading vessel. They say there’s a new false Dragon out west somewhere. Why, they even say he has Artur Hawkwing’s armies, back from the dead, following him, and that he killed a lot of Whitecloaks and destroyed Falme.”

“They say Aes Sedai helped him!” a man’s voice shouted from the waiting line.

Nynaeve looked ’round, but there was no sign of whoever had shouted. Everyone appeared to be concerned only with waiting, patiently or impatiently, for his turn to cross. Things had changed. When she had left Tar Valon, any man who spoke against Aes Sedai would have been lucky to escape with a punch on the nose from whoever overheard. Red in the face, the officer was glaring down the line.

“Rumours are seldom true,” Verin told him. “I can tell you that Falme still stands. Listen less to rumour, and more to the Amyrlin Seat. The Light shine on you.” She lifted her reins, and he bowed as she led the others past him.

Nynaeve kept her face stern, determined not to give the Aes Sedai the satisfaction of seeing her stare at their city. Nevertheless, the bridge struck her with wonder, as the bridges of Tar Valon always did. The openwork walls looked intricate enough to tax the best craftswoman at her lace-frame. It hardly seemed that such could have been done with stone, or that it could stand even its own weight. The river rolled, strong and steady, a hundred feet or more below, and for all that half mile the bridge flowed unsupported from riverbank to island.

The bridge was only the beginning. It arched straight to the walls that surrounded the island, high walls of gleaming white, silver-streaked stone, whose tops looked down on the bridge’s height. At intervals, guard towers interrupted the walls, of the same white stone, their massive footings washed by the river. But above the walls and beyond rose the true towers of Tar Valon, the towers of story, pointed spires and flutes and spirals, some connected by airy bridges a good three hundred feet above the ground. And still only the beginning.

There were no guards on the bronze-clad gates, and they stood wide enough for twenty abreast to ride through, opening onto one of the broad avenues that crisscrossed the island. Spring might barely have come, but the air already smelled of flowers and perfumes and spices. Every square and street crossing had its fountain, or its monument or statue, some atop great columns as high as towers, but it was the city itself that dazzled the eye. What was plain in form might have so many ornaments and carvings that it seemed an ornament itself, or, lacking decoration, used its form alone for grandeur. Great buildings and small, in stone of every colour, looking like shells, or waves, or wind-sculpted cliffs, flowing and fanciful, captured from nature or the flights of men’s minds. The dwellings, the inns, the very stables—even the most insignificant buildings in Tar Valon had been made for beauty. Ogier stonemasons had built most of the city in the long years after the Breaking of the World, and they maintained it had been their finest work.

Men and women of every sort thronged the streets. They were dark of skin, and pale, and everything in between, their garments were sometimes drab, sometimes rich, but always in bright colours and patterns, always in some combination of the colours of the seven Ajahs. Bright as the colours were, they always covered the skin in what Nynaeve deemed a proper fashion. At least here she could be certain there would be no-one wanting her to wear those scandalous, low-cut dresses Valan Luca had forced on her. And no men around to stare at her bosom, or do more than stare. She told herself, firmly, that she was glad of that. She hoped Lan and Rand were well.

Sedan chairs and litters wove through the crowds, the trotting bearers crying “Give way!” Closed carriages inched along, liveried coachmen shouting “Hiya!” and “Ho!” as if they believed they might achieve more than a walk. Street musicians played flute or harp or pipes, sometimes accompanying a juggler or an acrobat, always with a cap set out for coins. Wandering hawkers cried their wares, and shopkeepers standing in front of their shops shouted the excellence of their goods. A hum filled the city like the song of a thing alive.

Verin had pulled her cowl back up, hiding her face. Nynaeve felt the urge to do the same. Whatever Elayne thought, the storm she’d been feeling hadn’t lessened when they confronted those Whitecloaks.

She rode up beside Verin and leaned close. “Do you expect trouble?” The White Tower stood in plain sight now, gleaming broad and tall above the rooftops.

“I always expect trouble,” Verin replied placidly, “and so should you. In the Tower most of all. You must be more careful than ever, now. And I truly hope you have learned the folly of speaking when you should be silent.” Elayne’s face went crimson. “Once we enter the Tower grounds, hold your tongues and accept whatever happens. Whatever happens! You know nothing of what awaits us in the Tower, and if you did, you would not know how to handle it. So be silent.”

“I will do as you say, Verin Sedai,” Elayne said.

Nynaeve sniffed at the girl’s submissiveness. The Aes Sedai stared at her until she nodded reluctantly.  _ Bloody woman! _

The street opened into a vast square, centred in the city, and in the middle of the square stood the White Tower, shining in the sun, rising until it seemed to touch the sky from a palace of domes and delicate spires and other shapes surrounded by the Tower grounds. There were few people in the square. No one intruded on the Tower unless they had business there.

Captain Biron drew rein at the edge of the square. “With your permission we will part company here, Verin Sedai. Should you have any further need of us, simply send word to Lady Casandra and we will ride where you point.”

“Farewell, Captain. My thanks to your Lady for her and her House’s continued loyalty,” said Verin. She waited for Tomas to take charge of the packhorses, and for Biron and his men to salute and turn their horses back towards the bridge before returning her attention to the White Tower.

Nynaeve gave an exasperated shake of her head. “Men! They always say to send for them if you need them, but when you do need one, you need him right then.” Not that she needed Lan, of course. It was just irritating how often men spouted that kind of nonsense.

“No man can help where we are going now,” Verin said dryly. “Remember. Be silent.”

Verin took them around the Tower grounds to a small side gate that stood open, with two guards. Pausing, the Aes Sedai pushed back her cowl and leaned from her saddle to speak softly to one of the men. He gave a start, and a surprised look at Nynaeve and Elayne. With a quick, “As you command Aes Sedai,” he took off into the grounds at a run. Verin was already riding through the gates as he spoke. She rode as if there were no hurry.

Nynaeve exchanged glances with Elayne, wondering what Verin had told the man.

A grey stone guardhouse stood just inside the gate, shaped like a six-pointed star lying on its side. A small knot of guards lounged in the doorway; they left off talking and bowed as Verin rode past.

This part of the Tower grounds could have been some lady’s park, with trees and pruned shrubs and wide gravelled paths. Other buildings were visible through the trees, and the Tower itself loomed over everything.

The path led them to a stableyard among the trees, where grooms in leather vests came running to take their horses. At the Aes Sedai’s direction, some of the grooms unfastened their packs and saddlebags to be carried inside. Verin took a leather sack out of her own saddlebags and tucked it carelessly under one arm.

Nynaeve paused in knuckling her back and frowned at the Aes Sedai. “What’s in that?”

Before Verin could answer, if indeed she would have, there came the crunch of feet approaching on gravel.

In a moment Sheriam appeared, followed by two of the Accepted, their white dresses ringed at the hem with the colours of all seven Ajahs from Blue to Red, and two husky men in rough, labourer’s coats. The Mistress of Novices was a slightly plump woman, with the high cheekbones that were common in Saldaea. Flame-red hair and clear, tilted green eyes made her smooth Aes Sedai features striking. She eyed Nynaeve and Elayne calmly, but her mouth was tight.

“So you have brought back our two runaways, Verin. With everything that happened, I could almost wish you had not.”

“We did not—” Nynaeve began, but Verin cut her off with a sharp, “BE SILENT!” Verin stared at her —at each of the them—as if the intensity of her look could hold their mouths shut.

Nynaeve crossed her arms beneath her breasts, but she said nothing. She had never seen Verin angry before. The two Accepted behind Sheriam kept their silence but Nynaeve thought she could see their ears grow from listening. She hadn’t made many friends on her last stay in the Tower and the two with Sheriam were not among them. She recalled seeing them around the Tower but hadn’t spoken to the Domani before and what little conversation she’d had with Faolain had been enough to convince her to avoid the woman. The other Accepted had often seemed to delight in trying to push her around, and Faolain was one of the worst in that regard.  _ This will be unpleasant _ .

“I suppose,” Verin said, “that the whole Tower knows we have returned by now?”

“Those who do not know,” Sheriam told her, “will know before much longer. Comings and goings have become the first topic of conversation and gossip. Even before Falme, and far ahead of the war in Cairhien. Did you think to keep it secret?”

Verin gathered the leather sack in both arms. “I must see the Amyrlin. Immediately.”

“And what of these two?”

Verin considered Nynaeve and Elayne, frowning. “They must be closely held until the Amyrlin wishes to see them. If she does wish to. Closely held, mind. Their own rooms will do, I think. No need for cells. Not a word to anyone.”

Verin was still speaking to Sheriam, but Nynaeve knew the last had been meant as a reminder to her and Elayne. Nynaeve frowned as she jerked at her braid.  _ You’d think I was a little girl instead of the Wisdom of Emond’s Field. Or the former Wisdom at least _ . Elayne’s blue eyes were open wide, and her face was even paler than usual.

With a last, searching glance at her two travelling companions, Verin hurried off, clutching the sack to her chest, cloak flapping behind her and Tomas striding along in her wake.

Sheriam put her fists on her hips and studied Nynaeve and Elayne. Her voice was grim when she spoke. “Not a word, Verin Sedai said, and not a word shall it be. If one of you speaks—except to answer an Aes Sedai, of course—I’ll make you wish you had nothing but a switching and a few hours scrubbing floors to worry about. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Aes Sedai,” Elayne said, and Nynaeve had little choice but to echo her.

Sheriam made a disgusted sound in her throat, almost a growl. “Fewer girls now come to the Tower to be trained than once did, but they still come. Most leave never having learned to sense the True Source, much less touch it. A few learn enough not to harm themselves before they go. A bare handful can aspire to be raised to the Accepted, and fewer still to wear the shawl. It is a hard life, a hard discipline, yet every Novice fights to hold on, to attain the ring and the shawl. Even when they are so afraid they cry themselves to sleep every night, they struggle to hold on. And you two, who have more ability born in you than I ever hoped to see in my lifetime, left the Tower without permission, ran away not even half-trained, like irresponsible children, stayed away for months. And now you ride back in as if nothing has happened, as if you can take up your training again on the morrow.” She let out a long breath as if she might explode otherwise. “Faolain!”

The two Accepted jumped as if they had been caught eavesdropping, and one, a dark, curly-haired woman, stepped forward. They were both young women, but still older than Nynaeve. Nynaeve’s rapid rise to Accepted had been extraordinary; a decree of the Amyrlin Seat. In the normal course of things, it took years as a Novice to earn the Great Serpent rings they wore, and would take years more before they could hope to be raised to full Aes Sedai. She suspected that was part of why they all hated her.

“Take them to their rooms,” Sheriam commanded, “and keep them there. They may have bread, cold broth, and water until the Amyrlin Seat says otherwise. And if one of them speaks even a word, you may take her to the kitchens and set her to scrubbing pots.” She whirled and stalked away, even her back expressing anger.

Faolain eyed Nynaeve with almost a hopeful air, and got a good glower for her trouble. Faolain’s round face held no love for those who broke the rules so extravagantly, and less for one like Nynaeve, a wilder who had earned her ring without ever being a Novice, who had channelled power before she ever entered Tar Valon. When it became obvious that Nynaeve meant to keep her anger to herself, Faolain shrugged. “When the Amyrlin sends for you, you’ll probably be Stilled.”

“Give over, Faolain,” the other Accepted said. She had a willowy neck and coppery skin, and a graceful way of moving. “I will take you,” she told Nynaeve. “I am called Theodrin, and I, too, am a wilder. I will hold you to Sheriam Sedai’s order, but I will not bait you. Come.”

Nynaeve gave Elayne a worried look, then sighed and let Theodrin lead her away.

“Wilders,” Faolain muttered. On her tongue, it sounded like a curse. She turned her stare to Elayne but got only haughty, silent contempt in return.

“Well, come along,” Faolain snapped. “It’s bad enough I have to stand guard on your door without standing here all day. Come along.” Taking a deep breath, Elayne followed silently.


	18. The Amyrlin Seat

CHAPTER 15: The Amyrlin Seat

Siuan Sanche paced the length of her study, pausing now and again to glance, with a blue-eyed gaze that had made rulers stammer, at a carved nightwood box on a long table centred in the room. She hoped she would not have to use any of the carefully drawn documents within it. They had been prepared and sealed in secret, by her own hand, to cover a dozen possible eventualities. She had laid a warding on the box so that if any hand but hers opened it, the contents would flash to ash in an instant; very likely the box itself would burst into flame.

“And burn the thieving fisher-bird, whoever she might be, so she never forgets it, I hope,” she muttered. For the hundredth time since being told that Verin had returned, she readjusted her stole on her shoulders without realizing what she was doing. It hung below her waist, broad and striped with the colours of the seven Ajahs. The Amyrlin Seat was of all Ajahs and of none, no matter from which she had been raised.

The room was ornate, for it had belonged to generations of women who had worn the stole. The tall fireplace and broad, cold hearth were all carved golden marble from Kaltor, and the diamond-shaped floor tiles, polished redstone from the Mountains of Mist. The walls were panels of some pale striped wood, hard as iron and carved in fantastic beasts and birds of unbelievable plumage, panels brought from the lands beyond the Aiel Waste by the Sea Folk before Artur Hawkwing was born. Tall, arched windows, open now to let in the new, green smells, let onto a balcony overlooking her small private garden, where she seldom had time to walk.

All that grandeur was in stark contrast to the furnishings Siuan had brought to the room. The one table and the stout chair behind it were plain, if well polished with age and beeswax, as was the only other chair in the room. That stood off to one side, close enough to be drawn up if she wished a visitor to sit. A small Tairen rug lay in front of the table, woven in simple patterns of blue and brown and gold. A single drawing, tiny fishing boats among reeds, hung above the fireplace. Half a dozen stands held open books about the floor. That was all. Even the lamps would not have been out of place in a farmer’s house.

Siuan had been born poor in Tear, and had worked on her father’s fishing boat, one just like the boats in the drawing, in the delta called the Fingers of the Dragon, before ever she dreamed of coming to Tar Valon. Even the nearly ten years since she had been raised to the Seat had not made her comfortable with too much luxury. Her bedchamber was more simple still.

_ Ten years with the stole _ , she thought.  _ Nearly twenty since I decided to sail these dangerous waters. And if I slip now, I’ll wish I were back hauling nets _ .

She spun at a sound. Another Aes Sedai had slipped into the room, a copper-skinned woman with dark hair cut short. She caught herself in time to keep her voice steady and say only what was expected. “Yes, Leane?”

The Keeper of the Chronicles bowed, just as deeply as she would had others been present. The tall Aes Sedai, as tall as most men, was second only to the Amyrlin in the White Tower, and though Siuan had known her since they were Novices together, sometimes Leane’s insistence on upholding the dignity of the Amyrlin Seat was enough to make Siuan want to scream.

“Verin is here, Mother, asking leave to speak with you. I have told her you are busy, but she asks—”

“Not too busy to speak to her,” Siuan said. Too quickly, she knew, but she did not care. “Send her in. There’s no need for you to remain, Leane. I will speak to her alone.”

A twitch of her eyebrows was the Keeper’s only sign of surprise. The Amyrlin seldom saw anyone, even a queen, without the Keeper present. But the Amyrlin was the Amyrlin. Leane bowed her way out, and in moments Verin took her place, kneeling to kiss the Great Serpent ring on Siuan’s finger. The Brown sister had a good-sized leather sack under her arm.

“Thank you for seeing me, Mother,” Verin said as she straightened. “I have urgent news from Falme. And more. I scarcely know where to begin.”

“Begin where you will,” Siuan said. “These rooms are warded, in case anyone thinks to use childhood tricks of eavesdropping.” Verin’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, and the Amyrlin added, “Much has changed since you left. Speak.”

“Most importantly, then, Rand al’Thor has proclaimed himself the Dragon Reborn.”

Siuan felt a tightness loosen in her chest. “I hoped it was he,” she said softly. “I have had reports from women who could only tell what they had heard, and rumours by the score come with every trader’s boat and merchant’s wagon, but I could not be sure.” She took a deep breath. “Yet I think I can name the day it happened. Did you know the two false Dragons no longer trouble the world?”

“I had not heard, Mother. That is good news.”

“Yes. Mazrim Taim is in the hands of our sisters in Saldaea, and the poor fellow in the Forest of Shadows, the Light have pity on his soul, was taken by the Tairens and executed on the spot. No-one even seems to know what his name was. Both were taken on the same day and, according to rumour, under the same circumstances. They were in battle, and winning, when suddenly a great light flashed in the sky, and a vision appeared, just for an instant. There are a dozen different versions of what it was, but in both cases the result was exactly the same. The false Dragon’s horse reared up and threw him. He was knocked unconscious, and his followers cried out that he was dead, and fled the field, and he was taken. Some of my reports speak of visions in the sky at Falme. I’ll wager a gold mark to a week-old delta perch that was the instant Rand al’Thor proclaimed himself.”

“The true Dragon has been Reborn,” Verin said almost to herself, “and so the Pattern has no room for false Dragons anymore. We have loosed the Dragon Reborn on the world. The Light have mercy on us.”

The Amyrlin shook her head irritably. “We have done what must be done.”  _ And if even the newest Novice learns of it, I will be Stilled before the next sunrise, if I’m not torn to pieces first. Me, and Moiraine, and Verin, and likely anyone thought to be a friend of ours, as well _ . It was not easy to carry on so great a conspiracy when only three women knew of it, when even a close friend would betray them and consider it a duty well done.  _ Light, but I wish I could be sure they would not be right to do it _ . “At least he is safely in Moiraine’s hands. She will guide him, and do what must be done. What else have you to tell me, Daughter?”

For answer, Verin placed the leather sack on the table and took out a curled, gold horn, with silver script inlaid around its flaring bell mouth. She laid the horn on the table, then looked to the Amyrlin with quiet expectation.

Siuan did not have to be close enough to read the script to know what it said.  _ Tia mi aven Moridin isainde vadin _ . “The grave is no bar to my call.”

“The Horn of Valere?” she gasped. “You brought that all the way here, across hundreds of leagues, with the Hunters looking everywhere for it? Light, woman, it was to be left with Rand al’Thor.”

“I know, Mother,” Verin said calmly, “but the Hunters all expect to find the Horn in some great adventure, not in a sack within my saddlebags. And it would do Rand no good.”

“What do you mean? He is to fight Tarmon Gai’don. The Horn is to summon dead heroes from the grave to fight in the Last Battle. Has Moiraine once again made some new plan without consulting me?”

“This is none of Moiraine’s doing, Mother. We plan, but the Wheel weaves the Pattern as it wills. Rand was not first to sound the Horn. Min Farshaw did that.”

“That girl? How? No, tell me all later. Did you bring her back with you?”

“No, Mother. She has attached herself to young Rand and is reluctant to leave him. Moiraine felt it best that the Horn be kept somewhere safe, in more reliable hands.”

Siuan grunted.  _ Another complication, as if I don’t have enough to deal with _ .

“So long as Min lives,” Verin went on, “the Horn of Valere is no more than a horn to anyone else. If she dies, of course, another can sound it and forge a new link between Hornsounder and Horn.” Her gaze was steady and untroubled by what she seemed to be suggesting.

“Many will die before we are done, Daughter.”  _ And who else could I use to sound it again? I’ll not take the risk of trying to return it to Moiraine, now. One of the Gaidin, perhaps. Perhaps _ . “The Pattern has yet to make her fate clear.” Min was malleable at least. She could work with that.

“Yes, Mother. And the Horn?”

“For the moment,” the Amyrlin said finally, “we will find some place to hide this where no one but we two know. I will consider what to do after that.”

Verin nodded. “As you say, Mother.”

“Is that all you have for me?” Siuan said. “If it is, I have those two runaways to deal with.”

“There is the matter of the Seanchan, Mother.”

“What of them? All my reports say they have fled back across the ocean, or to wherever they came from.”

“It seems so, Mother. But I fear we may have to deal with them again.” Verin pulled a small leather notebook from behind her belt and began leafing through it. “They spoke of themselves as the Forerunners, or Those Who Come Before, and talked of the Return, and of reclaiming this land as theirs. I’ve taken notes on everything I heard of them. Only from those who actually saw them, of course, or had dealings with them.”

That was only sensible. Siuan had overseen the Blue Ajah’s network of eyes and ears before becoming the Amyrlin Seat; sifting fact from rumour had been at least half of that job. If anything, as Amyrlin she was even more at the mercy of unreliable reports.  _ If Leticia and Guiselle don’t report in soon I’ll have their ears for bookmarks _ . Part of the role of the advisors assigned to each monarch was to keep the Amyrlin apprised of any developments in their respective nations, but word out of Illian and Arad Doman had grown far too sparse lately for Siuan’s taste. As to Verin’s notes.

“Verin, you are worrying about a lionfish out in the Sea of Storms, while here and now the silverpike are chewing our nets to shreds.”

The Brown sister continued turning pages. “An apt metaphor, Mother, the lionfish. Once I saw a large shark that a lionfish had chased into the shallows, where it died.” She tapped one page with a finger. “Yes. This is the worst. Mother, the Seanchan use the One Power in battle. They use it as a weapon.”

Siuan clasped her hands tightly at her waist. The reports the pigeons had brought spoke of that, too. Most had only secondhand knowledge, but a few women wrote of seeing for themselves. The Power used as a weapon. Even dry ink on paper carried an edge of hysteria when they wrote of that. “That is already causing us trouble, Verin, and will cause more as the stories spread, and grow with the spreading. But I can do nothing about that. I am told these people are gone, Daughter. Do you have any evidence otherwise?”

“Well, no, Mother, but—”

“Until you do, let us deal with getting the silverpike out of our nets before they start chewing holes in the boat, too.”

With reluctance, Verin closed the notebook and tucked it back behind her belt. “As you say, Mother. If I might ask, what do you intend to do to Nynaeve and Elayne?”

The Amyrlin hesitated, considering. Maigan and Alanna hadn’t reported back yet. “Before I am done with them, they will wish they could go down to the river and sell themselves for fishbait.” It was the simple truth, but it could be taken in more than one way. “Now. Seat yourself, and tell me everything those two have said and done in the time they were with you. Everything.”


	19. Punishments

CHAPTER 16: Punishments

Lying on her narrow bed, Elayne frowned up at the flickering shadows cast on the ceiling by her single lamp. She wished she could form some plan of action, or reason out what to expect next. Nothing came. The shadows had more pattern than her thoughts. She had thought they might be in some trouble, but had not expected such a hostile reception.  _ What are they going to do to us? _

It was a stark, windowless room, like all those in the Novices’ quarters, small and square and painted white, with pegs on one wall for hanging her belongings, the bed built against a second, and a tiny shelf on a third. A washstand and a three-legged stool completed the furnishings. The floorboards were almost white from scrubbing. She had done that task, on hands and knees, every day she had lived there, in addition to her other chores and lessons. Novices lived simply, whether they were farmers’ daughters or the Daughter-Heir of Andor.

She wore the plain white dress of a Novice again—even her belt and pouch were white—but she felt no joy in it. Her room had become too much of a prison cell; it woke memories of her time in the  _ damane _ kennels. Faolain would still be standing guard on the other side of the door, she knew, very much like a jailor.

The door swung open, crashing against the wall, and Elayne sat up with a start. As if summoned simply by thinking of her, a smiling Faolain stepped into her room.

“Still awake? You must be missing your friend, eh?” the curly-haired Accepted said with surprising warmth. “It grows lonely, waiting by yourself.”

Elayne gathered her poise, folded her hands in her lap, and waited. She could answer Aes Sedai, Sheriam had said. No one else. Faolain was not the first Accepted—or Novice for that matter—to try to trick her in such a manner. Many of the students had taken a special interest in trying to trip her up when they learned she was the Daughter-Heir of Andor. She had been sure not to give them the satisfaction of seeing how much it upset her in the early days, and once Min had arrived she’d spared little thought for the other girls. Without Min her stay in the Tower promised to be significantly less enjoyable.  _ Anything in life would be significantly less enjoyable without Min, come to think of it _ .

When she didn’t respond, the false sympathy slid off Faolain’s face like water running off a roof. “On your feet. The Amyrlin’s not to be kept waiting by the likes of you. Move!”

The Amyrlin Seat. It was a struggle to hold her composure, knowing she was to be brought before that woman for judgement.  _ I may be a coward and a disgrace to Andor _ , she thought fiercely,  _ but I will stand to face my fate. And I will not weep _ .

Elayne got to her feet and glided out of the Novice quarter, giving Faolain a small but gracious nod as she passed.

Railed galleries rose tier on tier above, in a hollow column, and fell as many below, to the Novices’ Court. There were no other women in sight. Even if every Novice in the Tower had been there, though, less than a quarter of the rooms would have been filled. The two of them walked around the empty galleries and down the spiralling ramps in silence.

Elayne had never before been into the part of the Tower where the Amyrlin had her rooms. The corridors there were wide and tall. Colourful tapestries hung on the walls, tapestries in a dozen styles, of floral designs and forest scenes, of heroic deeds and intricate patterns, some so old they looked as if they might break if handled. Their shoes made loud clicks on diamond-shaped floor tiles that repeated the colours of the seven Ajahs.

There were few other women in evidence—an Aes Sedai now and then, sweeping along with no time to notice Accepted or Novices; five or six Accepted hurrying about their tasks or studies; a sprinkling of serving women with trays, or mops, or armfuls of sheets or towels; a few Novices moving on errands even more quickly than the servants.

Nynaeve and her slim-necked escort, Theodrin, joined them on their way. Nynaeve wore an Accepted’s dress, now, white with the seven coloured bands at the hem, but her belt and pouch were her own. She gave Elayne a reassuring smile and a hug.

“What do they mean to do to us?” Elayne whispered in her ear.

“I don’t know,” Nynaeve whispered back. “You’d think they’d be grateful after all we’ve done. They should be thanking us.”

“ ‘Should and would build no bridges,’ ” Elayne quoted. “Light, I used to hate it when Mother said that to me, but it’s true. Verin said we mustn’t speak of the Horn, or Liandrin, to anyone but her or the Amyrlin Seat. I do not think any of this will work out the way we thought. It is not fair. We’ve been through so much. It just is not fair.”

“I will tell you this. I’ll not let myself be Stilled,” Nynaeve said in a determined hiss. “Not without a fight.”

Elayne’s heart quickened, though she could not have said which horrified her more: the thought of being Stilled, or the thought of defying the Aes Sedai. “How could you stop it? You may be as strong as any of them, now, but neither one of us knows enough yet to stop even one Aes Sedai from shielding us from the Source, and there are dozens of them here.”

“We could escape. Mat hasn’t been able to but he’s only a man. We could manage it, I’m sure.”

She’d forgotten all about Mat. He’d been in the Tower for quite some time now. She hoped he hadn’t caused too much trouble. More importantly: “They would come after us, Nynaeve. I’m sure they would. Once you show any ability at all, they don’t let you go until you’ve learned enough not to kill yourself. Or just die from it.” And given her, and especially Nynaeve’s, strength in the Power, the Aes Sedai would be especially determined to keep a firm hold on them. There was little that could stop them, even ...

“My mother might protect us,” Elayne added softly, “if what that Whitecloak said is true. I never thought I would hope something like that was the truth. But if it isn’t, Mother is just as likely to send us both back in chains. Will you teach me how to live in a village?”

Nynaeve stiffened in her embrace. “You will come with me? If it comes to that, I mean?”

Elayne was silent for a time, weighing her options, poor as they were. “I do not want to be Stilled, Nynaeve,” she said in a faint whisper. “I will not be. I will not be!”

“Have you two become pillow-friends then?” Faolain interrupted. “Aes Sedai should be above such things.” Elayne and Nynaeve hastily released each other and gave the woman a pair of outraged scowls.  _ Really, that was beyond rude! _

“They also shouldn’t take their anger at themselves out on others,” Theodrin put in with a tired sigh. The furious glare Faolain sent her fellow Accepted showed nothing of that famous Aes Sedai composure.

Faolain spun on her heel and stalked off, leaving the rest to them to hasten after her.

The antechamber of the Amyrlin Seat’s study was grand enough for any palace, though the chairs scattered about for those who might wait were plain. The Keeper, Leane, wore her narrow stole of office, blue to show she had been raised from the Blue Ajah, and her face could have been carved from smooth, reddish stone. There was no one else there save for the Amyrlin’s Warder.

“Did they give any trouble?” The Keeper’s clipped way of talking gave no hint now of either anger or sympathy.

“No, Aes Sedai,” Theodrin said.

“This one had to be pulled by the scruff of her neck, Aes Sedai,” Faolain said, indicating Elayne. The Accepted sounded indignant. “She balks as if she has forgotten what the discipline of the White Tower is.”

Elayne drew a deep breath to calm herself, and gave the Accepted a cold stare. She had not balked! She had been as conscientious a student as ever, no matter how little she liked it!

“To lead,” Leane said, “is neither to push nor to pull. Go to Marris Sedai, Faolain, and ask her to allow you to contemplate on this while raking the paths in the Spring Garden.” She dismissed Faolain and the other Accepted, and they dropped deep curtsies. From the depth of hers, Faolain shot a furious look at Elayne.

The Keeper paid no attention to the Accepted’s leaving. Instead, she studied the remaining women, tapping a forefinger against her lips, till Elayne had the feeling they had all been measured to the inch and weighed to the ounce. Nynaeve’s eyes took on a dangerous sparkle, and she had a tight grip on her braid.

Finally Leane raised a hand toward the doors to the Amyrlin’s study. The Great Serpent bit its own tail on the dark wood of each. “Enter,” she said.

Nynaeve stepped forward promptly and opened one of the doors. Elayne gathered her courage and hastened along in her wake. Leane followed them in and took a place to one side, halfway between the two of them and the table in the centre of the room.

The Amyrlin Seat sat behind the table, examining papers. She did not look up. Once Nynaeve opened her mouth, but closed it again, at a sharp look from the Keeper. The two of them stood in front of the Amyrlin’s table and waited. Long minutes went by—it seemed like hours—before the Amyrlin raised her head, but when those blue eyes fixed them each in turn, Elayne decided she could have waited longer. The Amyrlin’s gaze was like two icicles boring into her heart. The room was cool, but a trickle of sweat began to run down her back.

“So!” the Amyrlin said finally. “Our runaways return.”

“We did not run away, Mother.” Nynaeve was obviously straining for calm, but her voice shook with emotion. Anger, Elayne knew. That strong will was all too often accompanied by anger. “Liandrin told us we were to go with her, and—” The loud crack of the Amyrlin’s hand slapping the table cut her off.

“Do not invoke Liandrin’s name here, child!” the Amyrlin snapped. Leane watched them with a stern serenity.

“Mother, Liandrin is Black Ajah,” Elayne burst out. “She betrayed us to the Seanchan. She—”  _ She had me leashed as a  _ damane. She shuddered to recall those days, and instead fixed in her mind the image of Min and Rand coming to her rescue.  _ It’s over now. I’m free _ .

“That is known, child. Suspected, at least, and as good as known. Liandrin left the Tower some time ago, and twelve other—women—went with her. None has been seen since. Before they left, they tried to break into the storeroom where the  _ angreal _ and  _ sa’angreal _ are kept, and did manage to enter that where the smaller  _ ter’angreal _ are stored. They stole a number of those, including several we do not know the use of.”

Nynaeve stared at the Amyrlin in horror, and Elayne rubbed at her arms to try and stop herself from shivering. Many times she had imagined returning to confront Liandrin and accuse her, to see her condemned to punishment. She had even pictured returning to find Liandrin already fled. But she had never imagined anything like this. If Liandrin and the others—she had not really wanted to believe there were others—had stolen those remnants of the Age of Legends, there was no telling what they could do with them.  _ Thank the Light they did not get any _ sa’angreal, she thought. The other was bad enough.

_ Sa’angreal _ were like  _ angreal _ , allowing an Aes Sedai to channel more of the Power than she safely could unaided, but far more powerful than  _ angreal _ , and rare.  _ Ter’angreal _ were something different. Existing in greater numbers than either  _ angreal _ or  _ sa’angreal _ , though still not common, they used the One Power rather than helping to channel it, and no one truly understood them. Many would work only for someone who could channel, needing the actual channelling of the Power, while others did what they did for anyone. Where all the  _ angreal _ and  _ sa’angreal _ Elayne had ever heard of were small,  _ ter’angreal _ could seemingly be any size. Each had apparently been made for a specific purpose by those Aes Sedai of three thousand years ago, to do a certain thing, and Aes Sedai since had died trying to learn what; died, or had the ability to channel burned out of them. There were sisters of the Brown Ajah who had made  _ ter’angreal _ their life’s study.

Some were in use, if likely not for the purposes they had been made. The stout white rod that the Accepted held while taking the Three Oaths on being raised to Aes Sedai was a  _ ter’angreal _ , binding them to the oaths as surely as if they had been bred in the bone. Another  _ ter’angreal _ was the site of the final test before a Novice was raised to the Accepted. There were others, including many no-one could make work at all, and many others that seemed to have no practical use.

_ Why did they take things no-one knows how to use? _ Elayne wondered.  _ Or maybe the Black Ajah does know _ . That possibility made her stomach churn. That might be as bad as  _ sa’angreal _ in Darkfriend hands.

“Theft,” the Amyrlin went on in tones as cold as her eyes, “was the least of what they did. Three sisters died that night, as well as two Warders, seven guards, and nine of the servants. Murder, done to hide their thieving and their flight. It may not be proof that they were—Black Ajah”—the words grated from her mouth—“but I cannot believe otherwise. When there are fish heads and blood in the water, you don’t need to see the silverpike to know they are there.”

“Then why are we being treated as criminals?” Nynaeve demanded. “We were tricked by a woman of the—of the Black Ajah. That should be enough to clear us of any wrongdoing.”

The Amyrlin barked a mirthless laugh. “You think so, do you, child? It may be your salvation that no-one in the Tower but Verin, Leane, and I even suspects you had anything to do with Liandrin. If that were known the Hall might very well vote for Stilling the two of you before you could take a breath.”

“That is not fair!” Nynaeve said. Leane stirred, but Nynaeve went on. “It is not right! It—!” The Amyrlin stood up. That was all, but it cut Nynaeve short.

It seemed to her a way out was being offered in what the Amyrlin had said, but she was not sure what way. “Mother, forgive me for speaking, but what do you intend to do to us?”

“Do to you, child? I intend to punish you for leaving the Tower without permission, and Nynaeve for leaving the city without permission. First, you will each be called to Sheriam Sedai’s study, where I’ve told her to switch you till you wish you had a cushion to sit on for the next week. I have already had this announced to the Novices and the Accepted.”

Elayne grunted, and stiffened her back, “Humiliation piled on humiliation,” she muttered under her breath. Nynaeve seemed to take it without shock though she cared as little for Sheriam’s method of discipline as Elayne did. Usually those punishments, whether extra labours or something else, were between the Mistress of Novices and whoever was called to her. But now everyone in the Tower would know she’d had to lie across Sheriam’s lap and raise her skirts to let the woman paddle her bottom.

“The announcement is part of the punishment, of course,” the Amyrlin went on, as if she had read Elayne’s mind. “I have also had it announced that you are both assigned to the kitchens, to work with the scullions, until further notice. And I have let it be whispered about that ‘further notice’ might just mean the rest of your natural lives. Do I hear objections to any of this?”

Nynaeve’s nostrils had flared, but she gave her head a tight shake.

“And you, Elayne?” the Amyrlin said. “The Daughter-Heir of Andor is used to gentle treatment.”

“I want to be Aes Sedai, Mother,” Elayne said in a firm voice.

The Amyrlin fingered a paper in front of her on the table and seemed to study it for a moment. When she raised her head, her smile was not at all pleasant. “If either of you had been silly enough to answer otherwise, I had something to add to your tally that would have had you cursing your mother for ever letting your father steal that first kiss. Letting yourselves be winkled out of the Tower like thoughtless children. Even an infant would never have fallen into that trap. I will teach you to think before you act, or else I’ll use you to chink cracks in the water gates! Now, as to what else I intend to do with you. It seems you have both increased your ability to channel remarkably since you left the Tower. You have learned much. Including some things,” she added sharply, “that I intend to see you unlearn!”

Nynaeve surprised Elayne by saying, “I know we have done ... things ... we should not have Mother. I assure you, we will do our best to live as if we had taken the Three Oaths.”

The Amyrlin grunted. “See that you do,” she said dryly. “If I could, I’d put the Oath Rod in your hands tonight, but as that is reserved for being raised to Aes Sedai, I must trust to your good sense—if you have any—to keep you whole. As it is, you, Elayne, are to be raised to the Accepted.”

Elayne gasped, and stammered a shocked, “Thank you, Mother.” _ Accepted already!?  _ Her mother would be so proud. Leane shifted where she stood. Elayne did not think the Keeper looked best pleased. Not surprised—she had obviously known it was coming—but not pleased, either.

“Do not thank me. Your abilities have gone too far for you to remain a Novice. Some will think you should not have the ring, not after what you’ve done, but the sight of you up to your elbows in greasy pots should mute the criticism. And lest you start thinking it’s some sort of reward, remember that the first few weeks as one of the Accepted are used to pick the rotting fish out of the basket of good ones. Your worst day as a Novice will seem a fond dream compared to the least of your studies over the next weeks. I suspect that some of the sisters who teach you will make your trials even worse than they strictly must be, but I don’t believe you will complain. Will you?”

The Amyrlin’s smile cut off her train of thought. That smile said nothing the sisters could do to them would be worse than it needed to be, if it left them alive. Nynaeve’s face was a mixture of deep sympathy and horrified remembrance of her own first weeks as one of the Accepted. “No, Mother,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

“Then that’s done. Your mother was not at all pleased by your disappearance, Elayne.”

“She knows?” Elayne squeaked.

Leane sniffed, and the Amyrlin arched an eyebrow, saying, “I could hardly keep it from her. You missed her by less than a month, which may be as well for you. You might not have survived that meeting. She was mad enough to chew through an oar, at you, at me, at the White Tower.”

“I can imagine, Mother,” Elayne said faintly.

“I don’t think you can, child. You may have ended a tradition that began before there was an Andor. A custom stronger than most laws. Morgase refused to take Elaida back with her. For the first time ever, the Queen of Andor does not have an Aes Sedai advisor. She demanded your immediate return to Caemlyn as soon as you were found. I convinced her it would be safer for you to train here a little longer. She was ready to remove your brother from his training with the Warders, too, especially when she learned the other boy had run off as well. Gawyn talked his way out of that himself. I still do not know how.”

Elayne imaged her mother in a fury terrible enough to make her turn against the Tower she had always loved. She shivered. Perhaps she should avoid Caemlyn for the next year. Or ten. “Gawyn is my brother,” she said absently. “Galad is not.”

“Do not be childish,” the Amyrlin told her. “Sharing the same father makes Galad your brother, too, whether or not you like him. I will not allow childishness out of you, girl. A measure of stupidity can be tolerated in a Novice; it is not allowed in one of the Accepted.”

“Yes, Mother,” Elayne said glumly.

“The Queen left a letter for you with Sheriam. Aside from giving you the rough side of her tongue, I believe she states her intention of bringing you home as soon as it is safe for you. She is sure that in a few more months at most you will be able to channel without risking killing yourself.”

“But I want to learn, Mother.” Elayne insisted. “I want to be Aes Sedai.”

The Amyrlin’s smile was even grimmer than her last. “As well that you do, child, because I have no intention of letting Morgase have you. You have the potential to be stronger than any Aes Sedai in a thousand years, and I will not let you go until you achieve the shawl as well as the ring. Not if I have to grind you into sausage to do it. I will not let you go. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Mother.” Elayne uneasily. Her real mother would not approve. And though she was getting what she wanted, Elayne was not completely sure she approved either. The way the Amyrlin spoke was somewhat ... threatening.

The Amyrlin said briskly, “Leane, take Elayne down to Sheriam’s study. I have a few words yet to say to Nynaeve. Words I do not think she will enjoy hearing.”

Elayne grimaced at the mention of the Mistress of Novices’ study, but she drew herself up as Leane came to her side. “As you command, Mother,” she said formally, lowering herself in a curtsy, skirts sweeping wide, “so shall I obey.” She followed Leane out with her head held high.


	20. The Bite of the Thorns

CHAPTER 17: The Bite of the Thorns

The Amyrlin Seat did not speak at once—she walked to the tall, arched windows and looked out across the balcony at the garden below, hands clasped tightly behind her. Minutes went by before she spoke, still with her back to Nynaeve.

“I have kept the worst of it from getting out, but how long will that last? The servants do not know of the stolen  _ ter’angreal _ , and they do not connect the deaths with Liandrin and the others leaving. It was not easy to manage that, gossip being what it is. They believe the deaths were the work of Darkfriends. And so they were. Rumours are reaching the city, too. That Darkfriends got into the Tower, that they did murder. There was no way to stop that. It does our reputation no good, but at least it is better than the truth. At least none outside the Tower, and few inside, know Aes Sedai were killed. Darkfriends in the White Tower. Faugh! I’ve spent my life denying that. I will not let them be here. I will hook them, and gut them, and hang them out in the sun to dry.”

Nynaeve took a deep breath and forced humility from herself. “Mother, are we to be punished more? Beyond what you’ve already sentenced us to?”

The Amyrlin looked over her shoulder at her; her eyes were lost in shadow. “Punished more? You might well say that. Some will say I’ve given Elayne a gift, raising her. And you as well, with my leniency. Now feel the bite of that rose’s thorns.” She strode briskly back to her chair and sat down, then seemed to lose her urgency again. Or to gain uncertainty.

Nynaeve frowned. Siuan had always seemed a hard and determined woman to her, to see her suddenly wavering—like a girl who knew she had to dive head first into a pond without any idea of how deep it was or whether there were rocks or mud on the bottom— to see that, was chilling.

Fingering a carved black box on the table in front of her, the Amyrlin peered at it as if looking at something beyond. “It is a question of who I can trust,” she said softly. “I should be able to trust Leane and Sheriam, at least. But do I dare? Verin?” Her shoulders shook with a quick, silent laugh. “I already trust Verin with more than my life, but how far can I take it? Moiraine?” She was silent for a moment. “I have always believed I could trust Moiraine.”

“What are you talking about?” Nynaeve demanded. The Amyrlin looked up at her, and she moderated her tone as she added, “Forgive me, Mother, but are we to be punished more? I do not understand this talk of trust. If you want my opinion, Moiraine is not to be trusted.”

“That is your opinion, is it?” the Amyrlin said. “A year out of your village, and you think you know enough of the world to choose which Aes Sedai to trust, and which not? A master sailor who’s barely learned to hoist a sail!”

Nynaeve gave her braid a sharp tug, but she kept her mouth shut.

“Well, who is to say,” the Amyrlin mused. “Trust is as slippery as a basket of eels, sometimes. The point is, you are what I have to work with, thin reed that you may be.”

Nynaeve’s mouth tightened, though she kept her voice level. “A thin reed, Mother?”

The Amyrlin went on as if she had not spoken. “Liandrin tried to stuff you headfirst into a weir, and it may well be she left because she learned you were returning, and could unmask her, so I have to believe you aren’t—Black Ajah. I would rather eat scales and entrails,” she muttered, “but I suppose I’ll have to get used to saying that name.”

“We certainly are not! How dare you say such a thing? How dare you even suggest it?” Nynaeve barked.

“If you doubt me, child, go ahead!” the Amyrlin said in a hard voice. “You may have an Aes Sedai’s power sometimes, but you are not yet Aes Sedai, not by miles. Well? Speak, if you have more to say. I promise to leave you weeping for forgiveness! ‘Thin reed’? I’ll break you like a reed! I’ve no patience left.”

Nynaeve’s wanted to shout back at her but she gave herself a shake, and drew a calming breath. When she spoke her voice still had an edge, but a small one. “Forgive me, Mother. But you should not—We are not—We would not do such a thing.”

With a compressed smile, the Amyrlin leaned back in her chair. “So you can keep your temper, when you want to. I had to know that.” Nynaeve narrowed her eyes; she wondered how much of that had been a test; there was a tightness around the Amyrlin’s eyes that suggested her patience might well be exhausted. “I wish I could have found a way to raise you to the shawl, Daughter. Verin says you are already as strong as any woman in the Tower.”

“The shawl!” Nynaeve gasped. “Aes Sedai? Me?”

The Amyrlin gestured slightly as if tossing something away, but she looked regretful to lose it. “No point wishing for what can’t be. I could hardly raise you to full sister and send you to scrub pots at the same time. And Verin also says you still cannot channel consciously unless you are furious. I was ready to sever you from the True Source if you even looked like embracing  _ saidar _ . The final tests for the shawl require you to channel while maintaining utter calm under pressure. Extreme pressure. Even I cannot—and would not—set that requirement aside.”

Nynaeve was stunned. After a moment she realised she was staring at the Amyrlin with her mouth hanging open, and hastily shut it.

“You and Elayne are the only two in the Tower I can be absolutely sure are not Black Ajah.” The Amyrlin’s mouth still twisted around those words. “Liandrin and her twelve went, but did all of them go? Or did they leave some of their number behind, like a stub in shallow water that you don’t see till it puts a hole in your boat? It may be I’ll not find that out until it is too late, but I will not let Liandrin and the others get away with what they did. Not the theft, and especially not the murders. No one kills my people and walks away unscathed. And I’ll not let thirteen trained Aes Sedai serve the Shadow. I mean to find them, and Still them!”

“I don’t see what that has to do with me,” Nynaeve said slowly.  _ She can’t mean what she seems to mean _ .

“Just this, child. You are to be my hound, hunting the Black Ajah. No one will believe it of you, not a half-trained Accepted I humiliated publicly.”

Nynaeve felt her eyes widen and took a white-knuckled grip on her braid. “That is crazy!” She bit her words off and spat them: “They are all full Aes Sedai. And you know I cannot channel enough to light a candle unless I am angry, not of my own free will. What chance would I have?”

The Amyrlin was nodding, too. “Every word you say is true. But you are more than a match for Liandrin in sheer power, and she is the strongest of them. Yet they are trained, and you are not, and you do have limitations, as yet. But when you don’t have an oar, child, any plank will do to paddle the boat ashore. They must be found, child.”

“Why is Elayne not part of this? It can’t be because you think she is Black Ajah. Is it because she is Daughter-Heir of Andor?”

“A full net on the first cast, child. I would make her join you if I could, but at the moment Morgase gives me enough problems as it is. When I have her combed and curried and prodded back on the proper path, perhaps Elayne will join you. Perhaps then.”

_ Thirteen Black Ajah Aes Sedai. That’s a fight I can’t win alone _ . “You can’t seriously expect me to defeat them by myself. There has to be some Aes Sedai you can trust.”

The Amyrlin snorted bitterly. “I don’t want to believe that any Aes Sedai could serve the Dark One, but they plainly do. If one woman that I can’t believe it of proclaims herself guilty then how can I be certain of any other? No. No Aes Sedai can be involved. Only Accepted like you. It would be risky to recruit students—they are a fickle and malleable bunch. I have to believe the Black Ajah would wait until they were raised Aes Sedai before approaching them.”

“Unless they were already Darkfriends when they first came to the Tower,” Nynaeve pointed out.

“I never said it would be easy,” the other woman said with a toothy smile. “I’ll leave it to your own judgement. Then you can come back and tell me how easy it is to trust.”

She frowned. “My judgement? Am I to recruit others for this hunting party?”

“Exactly. I am not setting you out as bait, child. If I had a hundred of you, I would still not be happy, but there is only you and whichever other Accepted might, possibly, be relied on. Pick them out, but only Accepted mind; the Novices wouldn’t stand a chance.”

_ And what chance will Accepted stand, against thirteen members of the Black Ajah? _ She wanted to storm out of the room, pack her things and go find Rand and the others. This was madness. But it was also a job that needed doing, and it often fell to the Wisdom to do the hard and dirty jobs than no-one else in the village would or could do.

“I’d rather hunt them than sit wondering if the Aes Sedai teaching me is really a Darkfriend,” Nynaeve said wearily. “And whatever they are up to, I do not want to wait until they’re ready, to find out what it is.”

The Amyrlin smiled as if pleased, but there was something in her blue eyes that made Nynaeve suspect she had known what her decision would be all along. For an instant, she felt as if there were puppeteer’s strings tied to her arms and legs.

“Verin ...” The Amyrlin hesitated, then muttered half to herself. “If I must trust someone, it might as well be her. She knows as much as I already, and maybe more.” Her voice strengthened. “Verin will give you all that is known of Liandrin and the others, and also a list of the  _ ter’angreal _ that were taken, and what they will do. Those that we know. As for any of the Black Ajah still in the Tower ... Listen, watch, and be careful of your questions. Be like a mouse. If you have even a suspicion, report it to me. I will keep an eye on you myself. No one will think that strange, given what you’re being punished for. You can make your reports when I look in on you. Remember, they have killed before. They could easily kill again.”

“That’s all very well,” Nynaeve said, “but we will still be Accepted, and it is Aes Sedai we’re after. Any full sister can tell us to go about our business, or send us off to do her laundry, and we will have no choice but to obey. There are places Accepted are not supposed to go, things we’re not supposed to do. Light, if we were sure a sister was Black Ajah, she could tell the guards to lock us in our rooms and keep us there, and they would do it. They certainly would not take the word of an Accepted over that of an Aes Sedai.”

“For the most part,” the Amyrlin said, “you must work within the limitations of the Accepted. The idea is for no-one to suspect you. But ...” She opened the black box on her table and hesitated, as if still unsure she wanted to do this, then took out a number of stiff, folded papers. Sorting through them carefully, she hesitated again, then chose out one and handed that paper to Nynaeve. The remainder she shoved back into the box, “Keep that well hidden. It is for an emergency only.”

Nynaeve unfolded the thick paper. It held writing in a neat, round hand, and was sealed at the bottom with the White Flame of Tar Valon.

_ What the bearer does is done at my order and by my authority. Obey, and keep silent, at my command. _

_ Siuan Sanche _

_ Watcher of the Seals _

_ Flame of Tar Valon _

_ The Amyrlin Seat _

“I could do anything with this,” Nynaeve said in a wondering voice. “Order the guards to march. Command the Warders.” She gave a little laugh. “I could make a Warder dance, with this.” She suddenly wished Lan was here.

“Until I found out about it,” the Amyrlin agreed dryly. “Unless you had a very convincing reason, I’d make you wish Liandrin had caught you.”

“I didn’t mean to do any of that,” Nynaeve said hastily. “I just meant that it gives more authority than I had imagined.”

“You may need every shred of it. But just you remember, child. A Darkfriend won’t heed that any more than a Whitecloak would. They would both likely kill you just for having it. If that paper is a shield ... well, paper shields are flimsy, and this one may have a target painted on it.”

“Yes, Mother,” Nynaeve said. She folded the paper up and tucked it into her belt pouch.

“Now, off with you, child. The hope of the Tower rests in your hands. Go to your room and get some rest. Remember, you have appointments with Sheriam, and with the pots.”

Outside the Amyrlin Seat’s study, Nynaeve found the corridors empty except for an occasional serving woman, hurrying about her duties on soft-slippered feet. She found herself watching even them through narrowed eyes as she strode along purposefully, tugging at her braid and trying to make plans.

_ If any of the Black Ajah are still here, they will see me as a threat simply due to what I know of Liandrin. Sanche must know that. Does she mean something different for me than what she claims? _ Not that it mattered. Liandrin would not have tried to put her out of the way in the first place unless she had been marked as a target by the Shadow.  _ If there are any Black Ajah still here, they will surely see me the same way, whether they suspect what I’m doing or not _ . Even had she wanted to evade the task the Amyrlin had given her, it would have been folly to try. The Black Ajah were already her enemies; either she got rid of them or they would get rid of her.

And the same was true for Elayne. She’d already decided she would tell the Daughter-Heir about her mission, whatever the Amyrlin wanted. Keeping her in the dark about it would not keep her safe, and there was no-one else in the Tower she trusted more. Spoiled noble she might be, but Elayne had proven herself brave and reliable over the past months.

But she would have ample time to speak to her about that later. Nynaeve made her way to the Accepted’s quarters, where she would be sleeping now that she was back in the Tower. The galleries were empty, and she met no-one as she climbed the spiralling ramps towards her room. There were one or two others she could think of who might be relied on to help, but the uncomfortable truth was that she had made few friends during her time in the Tower. If not for Min, she probably wouldn’t even have Elayne to look to.  _ I had friends when I was a girl. How did I become such a friendless adult? _ She knew the answer to her own question. She’d poured everything she was into being the Wisdom, with nothing left over for anything else. Even now that she had forsaken that role, she couldn’t quite remember how to be anything but the Wisdom.

Someone shoved her hard from behind and she staggered forward. She drew breath, intending to whirl around and give them the kind of tongue-lashing that would have sent the men of Emond’s Field scurrying home, but then the pain struck and her breath exploded out of her in a scream.

She stared down at the thing protruding from her breast. A wooden shaft tipped with metal, four heavy prongs, meant for punching through armour, now coated in white cloth and red blood.

_ A crossbow bolt _ , she managed through her shock.  _ I’ve been shot _ .

Nynaeve collapsed to the gallery floor, behind the railing, struggling to think. It was to the right side of the chest. Not the heart, but terrifyingly close to the lung.  _ I’ll need to hold them down and cut them, to prevent them drowning in their own blood _ , she thought, before the truth forced its way through her reeling thoughts. She was the patient this time, and Mistress Barran wouldn’t be coming to ease her hurts. A shameful whimper escaped Nynaeve’s lips as she lay on her side on the cold floor. She wondered who had shot her, and whether he was coming to finish the job.  _ Get up, woman. Fight! _ Her hand twitched before her face, refusing to obey her commands.

A loud bang sounded from somewhere nearby.

“What’s wrong with—she’s bleeding!”

There was a struggle, and something hit the floor not far from her.

“Stay down!” a second voice hissed. “Whoever fired that bolt may still be nearby.”

Nynaeve could barely move, but she managed to crane her head around enough to see a dark-haired woman in a white Accepted’s dress peering cautiously over the railing. She seemed familiar. “Help me,” she said weakly.

“Hold on, Nynaeve,” she woman whispered back. Then, “I can’t see anyone.”

A black blur streaked in front of the woman’s face to clang against the wall behind her, and then clatter to the floor. A few dark strands of her hair floated down to join it. She ducked down hastily, and raised a trembling hand to touch her ear where the bolt had nicked her.

“Blood and ashes!” she gasped, staring wide-eyed at the blood on her fingers. “Blood and bloody ashes!”

“Watch your language,” Nynaeve admonished, but her words came out in a barely audible croak.

From beyond the dark woman, another rose up, paler, her pretty face marred by an angry snarl. “You spent your life with that bolt you goat-fathered toad!” she shouted, standing tall and looking frantically about, her long, yellow hair waving with each movement of her head. “Where—Ah! I see you!” She pointed an outstretched hand across the well of the Accepted’s quarters and lightning burst from her fingertips. There was a very brief scream and then silence, save for the distant sound of voices raised in question.

The other woman clambered to her feet, carelessly wiping blood on her dress. “I could barely see him, even when he was running,” she said slowly.

“A Grey Man,” her friend said, her voice making the words a curse. “I had never seen one in person before, but in Volsung they are known as the Shadow’s best assassins.”

“Keep an eye out for more,” the other commanded, giving herself a shake. A long stride brought her to Nynaeve’s side and she fell to her knees, paying no heed to the blood on the floor.

_ My blood. How much have I lost? _

The woman grimaced at the sight before her. Her hand hovered dangerously near the bolt.

“Don’t pull it out,” Nynaeve managed. “Not yet.”

The hand came to rest on her shoulder, a firm but comforting presence. When Nynaeve looked into the woman’s dark eyes her addled thoughts provided a name. She knew her. She’d been as close to a friend as she’d had in the Tower, outside of Min and Elayne. “Dani,” she breathed.

“Don’t be afraid, Nynaeve. We’ll get you a Healer. Just hold on. Ilyena! See if Emara’s in her room. Drag her out here if you have to.” Running footsteps were the only response.

“A Grey Man in the White Tower,” Dani muttered. “What is the world coming to?”

_ Tarmon Gai’don. The end. If we don’t stop it _ .

“You’re delirious. It isn’t that bad,” said Dani.

Nynaeve hadn’t realised she’d spoken aloud. She felt very light-headed.  _ Focus. Don’t fall asleep. Keep breathing, deep and steady. Light, that hurts even worse! _

It didn’t take long for Ilyena to return, but to Nynaeve it felt like hours. When the Volsuni finally arrived, a wispy little woman with curly brown hair was running at her side, seemingly taking two steps for every one of the other woman’s.

“Fortune prick me!” she exclaimed in a high-pitched Illianer accent. “You do be telling the truth. I did think it be one of your tricks, Ilyena.”

A rude noise and a ruder oath was her response.

Emara pretended not to notice. She hopped around to Nynaeve’s other side and knelt down, laying her hands gently on Nynaeve’s arm. Grey eyes tightened with concern. “I will no be able to Heal this while the bolt do still be in her.”

“I know,” Dani said grimly.

“Just make sure you’re ready when she pulls it out,” Ilyena put in. “She won’t have much time.”

Emara nodded. She closed her eyes and calmness grew upon her face. Though she was girlishly small, that serenity granted her a sudden maturity. Nynaeve couldn’t see the glow of  _ saidar _ around her, not in her current state, but she could tell from the other woman’s expression exactly when she embraced the Source.

Dani fixed her eyes on Nynaeve’s. “This will hurt.”

Nynaeve gathered her strength and managed to sniff derisively. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You’re a pain in the backside sometimes,” Dani muttered, after a small sigh. “Does that count?”

Before Nynaeve could muster a response, the copper-skinned Accepted raised two fingers, around which a ghostly white glow suddenly appeared. She aimed her fingers carefully at the wooden shaft, and once she was satisfied, made a brief cutting motion. The wood parted as though cut by the sharpest of blades but even that small movement was enough to send pain surging through Nynaeve’s chest. She gritted her teeth against it, stubbornly refusing to scream. The metal head of the bolt clanked to the floor in front of her. Dani wasted no time before seizing the feathered shaft protruding from Nynaeve’s back; she gripped it in both hands and gave a hard yank. Nynaeve recalled her saying something about growing up on a farm, and knew from personal experience that she had a strong arm and could give as good as she got, should ... someone lose their temper and do something they shouldn’t have. None of that excused that rough treatment though. Try as she might, Nynaeve was unable to stifle her scream this time; the best she could do was to keep her teeth firmly together and muffle the noise.

Nynaeve had been Healed with the One Power before, but never from an injury as severe as this. The cold wave of Power washing over her would have been enough to widen her eyes by itself, but the feeling of her insides rearranging themselves under  _ saidar _ ’s influence was so shockingly strange that she couldn’t help but squirm under Emara’s hands. Dani had to hold her down while the other Accepted continued her work.

When the Healing had run its course Nynaeve was left gasping in a pool of her own blood. She poked tentatively at the hole in her dress and found only smooth skin underneath. Her wound was gone as though it had never been though she still felt woozy from the loss of blood. “Thank you. You saved my life,” she said, the words coming out of her in an embarrassing shudder.

Dani took her by the forearms and hauled her to her feet. Or tried to. Nynaeve’s legs refused to support her the way they should. The little Illianer offered a shoulder for her to lean on and Nynaeve was glad to accept it.

“What happened? Who did this to you?” Emara asked.

“A Grey Man,” said Ilyena. “His body is down on the next level.” Nynaeve hadn’t noticed her leaving but she must have gone back to her room, for the Volsuni had a pitcher of water in one hand and a single cup in the other. Her stern expression did not shift when she offered the filled cup to Nynaeve, who quaffed it eagerly, quite familiar with the need.

“What’s a Grey Man?” said Emara.

“Let’s go and see,” said Dani. She strode off and Ilyena was quick to follow. Nynaeve and Emara trailed after them at a slower pace.

They found the other two Accepted standing over a man’s corpse. There was a blackened hole in his clothes, close to the centre of his chest. The skin that showed beneath it was heavily charred. He was an average-appearing man, of average height and average build, with features so ordinary Nynaeve did not think she would have noticed him in a group of three. His eyes stared blankly upwards.

“He’s dead,” Emara whispered, as though afraid she might wake him. She was staring at the corpse as though she had never seen such a thing before. “W-we should tell a sister.”

Nynaeve grimaced. “But which sister? There’s the chance—”

Her words cut off at the sound of steps on the ramp leading up to their level. She wanted to embrace  _ saidar _ but in her current condition she had as much chance of managing that as she did of climbing Dragonmount. All she could do was stare at the head of the ramp and wait.

Sheriam soon appeared at the top of the ramp and stopped, frowning at what she saw. “What in the name of the Light has happened here?” She hurried forward, her serenity gone for once.

“Shadowspawn in the White Tower,” Ilyena said disgustedly.

“None of that talk!” Sheriam said sharply. She knelt beside the corpse and put a hand to the man’s chest, and jerked it back twice as fast, hissing. Steeling herself visibly, she touched him again, and maintained the touch longer. “Dead,” she muttered. “As dead as it is possible to be, and more.” When she straightened, she pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped her fingers. “You killed him?”

Ilyena faced her proudly and nodded once. “I did.”

Sheriam ran her eyes over Nynaeve. With the holes in her dress and the blood that covered it, not to mention the way she was clinging to Emara, it would have been impossible for her not to realise what had happened. She shook her head. “A man in the Accepted’s quarters would be scandal enough, but this ...!”

“What does make him different? And how could he be more than dead?” asked a wide-eyed Emara.

Sheriam took a deep breath, and gave them each a searching look. “He is one of the Soulless. A Grey Man.” Absently, she wiped her fingers again, her eyes going back to the body. Worried eyes.

“The Soulless?” Emara squeaked.

Sheriam glanced at them, a look as penetrating as it was brief. “Not a part of your studies, yet, but considering this ...” She gestured to the corpse. “The Soulless, the Grey Men, give up their souls to serve the Dark One as assassins. They are not really alive, after that. Not quite dead, but not truly alive. And despite the name, some Grey Men are women. A very few. Even among Darkfriends, only a handful of women are stupid enough to make that sacrifice. You can look right at them and hardly notice them, until it is too late. He was as much as dead while he walked. Now, only my eyes tell me that what is lying there ever lived at all.” She gave them another long look. “No Grey Man has dared enter Tar Valon since the Trolloc Wars.”

“What will you do?” Dani asked. Sheriam’s brows rose, and she quickly added, “If I may ask, Sheriam Sedai.”

The Aes Sedai hesitated. “I suppose you may, since you had the bad luck to encounter him. It will be up to the Amyrlin Seat, but with everything that has happened, I believe she will want to keep this as quiet as is possible. We do not need more rumours. You will speak of this to none but me, or to the Amyrlin, should she mention it first.”

“Yes, Aes Sedai,” Dani said, and the other two echoed her, Emara quickly and earnestly. Nynaeve’s voice was cooler.

Sheriam appeared to take their obedience for granted. She gave no sign of having heard them. Her attention was all on the dead man. The Grey Man. The Soulless. “There will be no hiding the fact that a man was killed here.” Abruptly, a long, low dome covered the body on the floor, greyish and so opaque that it was hard to see there was a body under it. “But this will keep anyone else from touching him who can discover his nature. I must have this removed quickly.”

Her tilted green eyes regarded them as if she had just remembered their presence. “You four go, now. To your room, I think, Nynaeve. To change. Considering what you are already facing, if it became known you were involved in this, even on the edge of it ... Go.”

Emara dipped her knees slightly, then looked stricken at her own inability to curtsy while holding Nynaeve up. She would have left but Nynaeve spoke up. “Why did you come up here, Sheriam Sedai?”

For a moment Sheriam looked startled, but on the instant she frowned. Fists on her hips, she regarded Nynaeve with all the firmness of her office. “Does the Mistress of Novices now need an excuse for coming to the Accepted’s quarters?” she said softly. “Do Accepted now question Aes Sedai? The Amyrlin means to make something of you, but whether she does or not, I will teach you manners, at least. Now, go, before I haul you down to my study, and not for the appointment the Amyrlin Seat has already set for you.”

Nynaeve let herself be led off. It was a silent group that crowded into Nynaeve’s room. Emara deposited her on her bed and Nynaeve held the cup out to Ilyena. Wordlessly, the Volsuni refilled it for her.

“Agents of the Shadow, walking around in the White Tower,” Dani muttered at last, shaking her head in disbelief.

Nynaeve poked at the hole in her dress.  _ Just a few inches to the side and I wouldn’t have lived long enough to be Healed _ . It was a risk, but what wasn’t in these troubled times? None of them had been safe since Moiraine came to Emond’s Field. It was a risk, but she doubted a better chance would present itself.

“More than you know,” she said grimly, and began telling them as much of the truth as she dared.


	21. The Red Sister

CHAPTER 18: The Red Sister

Elayne stood with her arms crossed beneath her breasts and eyes red at least partly from anger. She would have liked to tell herself it was for the sake of sternness alone that she refrained from sitting, but the embarrassing truth was that Sheriam had been rougher than ever and Elayne didn’t dare touch her bottom to any surface just yet. Her foul mood made it difficult to be glad to see her brother again, for all that she had missed him these past months.

Gawyn shared Elayne’s blue eyes and red-gold hair. His dark green coat was undone to show a snowy shirt and he sprawled on the narrow bed in her room in the Novice’s quarters, leaning back against the wall, grinning, all arms and legs and insolence.  _ If he dares ask why I am standing ... _

“But where have you been, Elayne? You dodge my questions as if you have a pocket full of figs again and don’t want me to have any.”

“I have told you, Gawyn,” she said in a tight voice, “it is none of your affair.”

“How can it not be my affair, sister? I’m supposed to protect you. I swore it over your cradle,” Gawyn said with a smile. “And after what I went through just to be here, I deserve some explanation of where you’ve been. I would rather let Hammar thump me all over the practice yard all day than face Mother again for a single minute. I’d rather have Coulin mad at me.” Coulin was Master of Arms, and kept a tight discipline among the young men who came to train at the White Tower, whether they aspired to become Warders or just to learn from them. Gawyn grimaced. “She’ll have my hide, Elayne, if anything happens to you. I had to talk fast, or she’d have hauled me back home with her. I have never heard of a queen sending her own son to the headsman, but Mother sounded ready to make an exception if I don’t bring you home safely. I wish Galad hadn’t left; I would have welcomed his support. Have you heard that he joined the Whitecloaks?”

Elayne had quite a bit to say about that, but admitting she’d met Galad recently would offer Gawyn a trail that might lead him towards things he shouldn’t know concerning Rand and her recent activities. “I am sure,” she said, “that your fast talk was all for me. None of it was meant to let you stay here studying with the Warders.”

Gawyn’s face reddened. “Your safety was my first concern. I managed to convince Mother that if you did return here, you would need someone to look after you.”

“Look after me!” Elayne exclaimed.

Gawyn raised his hands defensively. “The White Tower has become a dangerous place, Elayne. There have been deaths—murders. Even some Aes Sedai have been killed, though they have tried to keep that quiet. And I have heard rumours of the Black Ajah, spoken in the Tower itself. By Mother’s command, when it is safe for you to leave your training, I am to return you to Caemlyn.”

For answer, Elayne lifted her chin and half turned away from him.  _ I will not run away, no matter what Mother says. I will complete my training and become Aes Sedai _ .

Gawyn ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Light, Elayne. I’m not a villain. All I want to do is help. I would do it anyway, but Mother commanded it, so there’s no chance of you talking me out of it.”

“Mother’s commands carry no weight in Tar Valon,” Elayne said in a level voice. It was true enough, though it made her feel a little treacherous to say it. “As for your offer of help, I will remember it. Should I need help, you will be the first to hear of it.”

“That is all very well, but Mother will want to know you have come back. And why you ran off without a word, and what you have been doing these months. Light, Elayne! The whole Tower was in a turmoil. Mother was half-crazed with fear. I thought she’d tear the Tower down with her bare hands.” Guilt stabbed Elayne’s heart. The last thing she’d wanted to do was to cause her mother grief. Gawyn pressed his advantage. “You owe her that much, Elayne. You owe me that much. Burn me, you’re being as stubborn as stone. You’ve been gone for months, and all I know about it is that you’ve run afoul of Sheriam. And the only reasons I know that much are because you’ve been crying and you won’t sit down.”

Her head snapped around and she fixed him with a glare that should have burnt him to a crisp.  _ I knew it! I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist mentioning it! _ The pain in her cheeks flared up again, as if in response to his drawing attention to them.

“Enough,” she said angrily, pointing a finger at the door and stamping her foot. “I wish to be alone for now. Leave me!”

“But, Elayne—” Gawyn began.

“Out, I say!”

Rather insultingly, Gawyn let out a long-suffering sigh before he got up and started for the door. She waited until the door had closed behind him before permitting herself to stalk back and forth in her small cell.  _ Oh, my poor bottom _ .

A light rap on the door brought her to an abrupt halt. “I told you I wanted to be alone!” she called angrily.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to lie?” Nynaeve’s voice responded.

Elayne moved swiftly to open to the door. She found Nynaeve in a fresh Accepted’s dress, looking paler than she’d ever seen her, even in the midst of battle. Her thick, brown braid was in disarray and her lips were set in a thin line.  _ Light! What did the Amyrlin do to her? _

“And here I was, feeling sorry for myself due to Sheriam’s arm. What happened to you?” Elayne said, stepping aside and gesturing invitingly.

Nynaeve even moved differently. She entered Elayne’s room on unsteady legs, rather than her usual firm stride. She went to the single stool and sighed as she carefully lowered herself onto it.

“Elayne, if you wish, I can make a salve that will soothe you.”

Elayne shook her head, then lay down across the bed with her chin in her hands. “If Sheriam found out, we would no doubt both have yet another visit to her study to look forward to.”

“Doubtless,” Nynaeve said grimly. “There are important matters to talk about.”

“Yes,” Elayne said, “such as what the Amyrlin Seat had to say to you after I left. And what she did to you; you look terrible.”

“Well, I  _ was _ nearly killed today,” Nynaeve said dryly.

“Nearly killed?” Elayne whispered.

“Yes. Perhaps because I am still a threat, and perhaps because they already know that I was closeted alone with the Amyrlin, and even what she told me.”

“And what did she tell you?”

“Nothing pleasant.”

Elayne gave a sniff of disbelief. “Most people think I get off easier than the others because I am Daughter-Heir of Andor. The truth is that if anything, I catch it harder than the rest because I’m Daughter-Heir. You didn’t do anything I did not, and if all the Amyrlin wanted was to have harsh words with you, she would have had twice as harsh for me. Now, what did she say?”

“You must keep this just between us,” Nynaeve said. “The Black Ajah—”

“The Black Ajah!” Elayne almost shouted, scrambling up to kneel in the middle of the bed. “You cannot leave me out after telling me this much. I won’t be left out.”

“I never meant for you to be,” Nynaeve assured her. “But it will be dangerous, Elayne, as dangerous as anything we faced in Falmerden. Maybe more so. You don’t have to be part of it this time.”

“I know that,” Elayne said quietly. She paused, then went on. “When Andor goes to war, the First Prince of the Sword commands the army, but the Queen rides with them, too. Seven hundred years ago, at the Battle of Cuallin Dhen, the Andormen were being routed when Queen Modrellei rode, alone and unarmed, carrying the Lion banner into the midst of the Tairen army. The Andormen rallied and attacked once more, to save her, and won the battle. That is the kind of courage expected of the Queen of Andor. If I have not learned to control my fear yet, I must before I take my mother’s place on the Lion Throne.” Suddenly her sombre mood vanished in a giggle. “Besides, do you think would pass up an adventure so I could scrub pots?”

“You will do that anyway,” Nynaeve told her, “and hope that everyone thinks that is all you are doing. Now listen carefully.”

Elayne listened, and her mouth slowly dropped open as Nynaeve unfolded what the Amyrlin Seat had told her, and the task she had laid on her, and the attempt on her life. She shivered over the Grey Man, and read the incredible document the Amyrlin had given Nynaeve, then returned it, murmuring, “I wish I could have that when I face Mother next.” By the time Nynaeve finished, though, indignation had overwhelmed fear or wonder in her heart.

“Why, that’s like being told to go up in the hills and find lions, only you do not know whether there are any lions, but if there are, they may be hunting you, and they may be disguised as bushes. Oh, and if you find any lions, try not to let them eat you before you can tell where they are.”

“If you are afraid,” Nynaeve said, “you can still stand aside. It will be too late, once you’ve begun.”

Elayne tossed her head back. “Of course I am afraid. I am not a fool. But not afraid enough to quit before I have even started.”

Nynaeve nodded as though she had expected no less, which pleased Elayne more than she would admit. “I am not sure we can trust the Amyrlin much further than the Black Ajah,” Nynaeve said, frowning. “She means to use us for her own ends. I mean to see she doesn’t use us up. We are just tools, in the Amyrlin’s eyes. She will use us to hunt the Black Ajah, but if you break a tool so it cannot be fixed, you don’t weep over it. You just get another one. You had best remember that.”

Elayne had always been taught that such was the burden of leadership. She did not share Nynaeve’s outrage at the Amyrlin’s use of her, but decided it was not a point worth causing an argument over. “It will be difficult with just the two of us, against thirteen Black sisters. We shall have to be cautious.”

Nynaeve nodded again. “It will be difficult, and we will be cautious, but it won’t be just us two. The Amyrlin gave me permission to recruit others from among the Accepted, and I’ve already found three volunteers.”

Elayne’s brows rose. “Who?”

Before Nynaeve could respond, the door banged open, and an Aes Sedai entered as though it were her room, and they the interlopers. Elayne and Nynaeve came quickly to their feet.

Elaida do Avriny a’Roihan shared Nynaeve’s colouring, but she was a handsome woman rather than beautiful, and the sternness on her face added maturity to her ageless Aes Sedai features. She did not look old, yet Elayne had never been able to imagine Elaida as having been young. Except for the most formal occasions, few Aes Sedai wore the vine-embroidered shawl with the white teardrop Flame of Tar Valon large on the wearer’s back, but Elaida wore hers today, the long red fringe announcing her Ajah. Red slashed her dress of cream-coloured silk, too, and red slippers peeked under the edge of her skirts as she moved into the room.

Elayne smiled to see her. As difficult as she could be, Elaida was a known factor, and she could not bring herself to believe her mother’s old advisor was Black Ajah.

“So the two of you are together. Somehow, that does not surprise me.” Her voice made no more pretence than her bearing did; she was a woman of power, and ready to wield it if she decided it was necessary, a woman who knew more than those she spoke to. Elayne had heard her speak so even to her mother.

“Forgive me, Elaida Sedai,” Nynaeve said, dropping another curtsy, “but I was about to go out. I have much to catch up in my studies. If you will forgive—”

“Your studies can wait,” Elaida said. “They have waited long enough already, after all.” She plucked the cloth pouch that hung from Nynaeve’s belt and undid the strings, but after one glance inside she tossed her head disdainfully. “Herbs. You are not a village Wisdom any longer, child. Trying to hold on to the past will only hold you back.”

“Elaida Sedai,” Elayne said, “I—”

“Be silent, Novice.” Elaida’s voice was cold and soft, as silk wrapped around steel is soft. “You may have broken a bond between Tar Valon and Caemlyn that has lasted a thousand years. You will speak when spoken to.” Shame warred with anger inside Elayne. She dropped her eyes and examined the floor in front of her toes. Her lower cheeks were not the only ones that burned.

Ignoring them both, Elaida sat down on the lone stool, carefully arranging her skirts. She made no gesture for the rest of them to sit. Nynaeve’s face tightened, and she began giving sharp little tugs to her braid.

When Elaida had settled herself to her own satisfaction, she studied them for a time in silence, her face unreadable. At last she said, “Did you know that we have the Black Ajah among us?”

Elayne exchanged startled glances with Nynaeve.

“We were told,” Nynaeve said cautiously. “Elaida Sedai,” she added after a pause.

Elaida arched an eyebrow. “Yes. I thought that you might know of it,” she said, her tone implying so much more than it said. Nynaeve opened her mouth angrily, but the Aes Sedai’s flat stare stilled her tongue. “You vanish,” Elaida went on in a casual tone, “vanish, taking with you the Daughter-Heir of Andor—the girl who may become Queen of Andor one day, if I do not strip off her hide and sell it to a glove maker—vanish without permission, without a word, without a trace.”

“I was not carried off,” Elayne said to the floor. “I went of my own will.”

“Will you obey me, child?” A glow surrounded Elaida. The Aes Sedai’s glare was fixed on Elayne. “Must I teach you, here and now?”

Elayne raised her head and stared at the woman. Anger routed shame inside her and she had no doubt that her face revealed that victory, but she could not find it in her to care.  _ She threatens me? How dare she!? _ For a long moment she met Elaida’s stare, before her wits returned and she forced her anger down. Elaida was no longer her mother’s advisor, or Elayne’s teacher; she was Aes Sedai and, in truth, being Aes Sedai had always been more important to her that the other roles.

Elayne’s lowered her head. “Forgive me, Elaida Sedai,” she mumbled. “I—forgot myself.”

The glow winked out of existence, and Elaida sniffed audibly. “You have learned bad habits, wherever this one took you. You cannot afford bad habits, child. You will be the first Queen of Andor ever to be Aes Sedai. The first queen anywhere to be Aes Sedai in over a thousand years. You will be one of the strongest of us since the Breaking of the World. Do not risk all of that, child because you can still lose it all. I have invested too much time to see that. Do you understand me?”

“I think so, Elaida Sedai,” Elayne lied. If she was so important to Elaida, then why did she treat her in such a manner?

Elaida abandoned the subject. “You may be in grave danger. Both of you. You disappear and return, and in the interval, Liandrin and her ... companions leave us. There will inevitably be comparisons. We are sure Liandrin and those who went with her are Darkfriends. Black Ajah. I would not see the same charge levelled at Elayne, and to protect her, it seems I must protect you as well, Nynaeve. Tell me why you ran away, and what you have been doing these months, and I will do what I can for you.” Her eyes fastened on Nynaeve like grappling hooks.

Nynaeve gave no sign of being affected by Elaida’s penetrating look. She met the Aes Sedai’s eyes without blinking. “Forgive me, Elaida Sedai,” she said smoothly, “but the Amyrlin Seat said our transgressions were to be put behind us and forgotten. As part of making a new beginning, we are not even to speak of them. The Amyrlin said it should be as if they never happened.”

“She said that, did she?” Still nothing in Elaida’s voice or on her face told whether she believed or not. “Interesting. You can hardly forget entirely when your punishment has been announced to the entire Tower. Unprecedented, that. Unheard of, for less than Stilling. I can see why you are eager to put it all behind you. I understand you are to be raised to the Accepted, Elayne. That is hardly punishment.”

Elaida’s tone made plain she did not think Elayne worthy of being promoted from the Novice rank. That hurt more than she had expected. “The Mother said I was ready,” she said after a moment.  _ And she was right—I have fought in battles against Shadowspawn armies, and even the Forsaken. I am no Novice _ . A touch of defiance crept into her voice. “I have learned, Elaida Sedai, and grown. She would not have named me to be raised if I had not.”

“Learned,” Elaida said musingly. “And grown. Perhaps you have.” There was no hint in her tone whether she thought this was good. Her gaze shifted back to Nynaeve, searching. “You arrived with the Cauthon wretch, a youth from your village. There was another young man from your village. Rand al’Thor.”

Elayne felt as if an icy hand had suddenly gripped her stomach. How far had the rumours of Falme spread? Did any of them mention Rand by name?

“I hope he is well,” Nynaeve said levelly, but her hand was a fist gripping her braid. “We have not seen him in some time.”

“An interesting young man.” Elaida studied them as she spoke. “I met him only once, but I found him—most interesting. I believe he must be  _ ta’veren _ . Yes. The answers to many questions may rest in him. This Emond’s Field of yours must be an unusual place to produce you. And Rand al’Thor.”

“It is just a village,” Nynaeve said. “Just a village like any other.”

“Yes. Of course.” Elaida smiled, a cold quirk of her lips. “Tell me about him. The Amyrlin has not commanded you to be silent about him also, has she?”

Nynaeve gave her braid a tug while Elayne studied the floor, searching her mind for some way to throw Elaida off the scent. She didn’t think Elaida was Black Ajah but that was not at all the same as thinking her an ally. She had no doubt that if she found out what Rand was she would Gentle or kill him without a moment’s hesitation.  _ Perhaps if I told her I was having an affair with him, and ran off for an extended tryst _ . That would sound plausible—Elaida had met him, and could not help but have noticed how handsome he was. The Aes Sedai would be furious—she had no time whatsoever for men—but it would certainly be better than letting her find out the truth.

The moment stretched on, until finally Nynaeve opened her mouth. “He lived out in the woods with his father. They didn’t come to town very often. But he seemed a good-natured fellow from what little I saw.”

Elaida’s dark eyes glittered. “Do not toy with me, child. In a small village like your Emond’s Field, everyone knows everyone.”

“As I said, Aes Sedai, the al’Thor’s don’t live in Emond’s Field,” said Nynaeve tightly.

The silence stretched again, until at last Elaida broke it. “Perhaps you are telling the truth.”

Nynaeve’s jaw tightened at having her word questioned, but she held her tongue.

Elaida turned her stare on Elayne instead. “You endanger more than you know with your flightiness, Elayne. You will cease your mischief and behave like an adult, or you will quickly find yourself with much more to fear than the Mistress of Novices’ slipper.”

Elayne forced her fists to unclench before allowing herself to speak. “I will try my best, Elaida Sedai. I am sorry if my recent actions have led to a falling out between you and Mother.”

“As well you should be,” said Elaida. The smile that touched her lips brought little warmth to her face. “And perhaps will be, if you continue as you have begun. Amira has decided to step down as Sitter for the Red Ajah. I will be taking her place in the Hall of the Tower. And I will be keeping a close eye on you from now on.”

“Congratulations, Elaida Sedai,” Elayne said, trying to hide her despair.

Elaida’s soft snort told her she hadn’t hid it well enough. The Red Sister rose from her stool and adjusted her skirts. “Be very careful,” she said, before letting herself out.

Elayne waited until the sound of her footsteps had faded away before blowing out a breath. “She threatened me,” she said incredulously, and half to herself. “She threatened me with Stilling, if I don’t stop being—wilful!”

“Her scrutiny will make this investigation harder,” said Nynaeve, “even if she isn’t Black Ajah herself. Though I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she was. And then there’s Sheriam. She knows about the Grey Man and I can only assume that means she’ll be keeping an eye on us, too.”

“That will definitely be a problem, should Sheriam turn out to be a Darkfriend,” Elayne said lightly. She meant it for a joke but Nynaeve did not smile and Elayne’s own smile didn’t last long. As ridiculous as it seemed, Sheriam  _ could _ be Black Ajah. Any of the sisters could be. Or all of them. She wished she could make that thought go away.


	22. Different Routes

CHAPTER 19: Different Routes

The afternoon sun was hot, as the ferry docked on the far side of the Erinin from Cullen’s Crossing. As soon as the ramp at the end of the barge was lowered, Perrin led Stepper up the dock after Moiraine and Lan. It was a solemn group that disembarked at the village that supported the ferry. Min kept looking back over the river, though even Perrin had difficulty seeing anything on that side from here. She smelled worried, and she was far from the only one.

There had been objections when Rand detailed his plan to the Inner Circle, and even more when he announced it to the rest of their companions. Perrin hadn’t been surprised by Moiraine’s reaction, but he had been a little taken aback by how many of the Shienarans that had tried to talk Rand out of it. Of course, when Rand remained as stubborn as ever their arguments had quickly turned from why he shouldn’t go to why they should be one of those to accompany him.

Only three people had left with Rand though. He’d insisted on that. He’d passed through a Portal Stone without mishap once before when he had only three companions, but gotten lost for months when he tried to do the same with ten times as many. He’d dare the Stone with three others and with not a man more. When Perrin had last seen him he’d been riding hard, heading north from Cullen’s Crossing towards Braem Woods, with Izana, Inukai and Rikimaru galloping beside him. He’d wanted the best scouts and swiftest riders, to make it easier to find the Portal Stone he claimed was somewhere in those woods. When Anna asked how he knew there was a Stone there, Rand had refused to answer.

_ Be careful, old friend. You are playing with things you barely understand _ .

As risky as the plan was, he couldn’t deny that part of him was glad Rand had decided to come back to the Theren with him, and not just because it increased his chances of dealing with the Whitecloaks without dying. He’d been far from blind to the gamble he’d proposed to take when he asked Loial to Guide him to Manetheren’s Waygate. They would have been relying on luck to ensure they reached the Waygate without running afoul of  _ Machin Shin _ . That shouldn’t be a problem now.

Zarine was the last to disembark from the ferry. She took her time, examining her mount almost as if she had never seen the glossy black mare before, though Perrin knew she had put the horse through her paces in Aringill before buying. The horse, Swallow by name, was a fine animal, with slender ankles and an arched neck, a prancer with the look of speed and endurance both, though shod too lightly for Perrin’s taste. Those shoes would not last.

When she glanced his way, Perrin turned aside and urged Stepper on. He was still mad at her for the way she had tricked Loial.

Gaul walked alongside him. He bore all of his weapons, with two leather water bottles, and a rolled blanket and a small cookpot were strapped beside the worked-leather bow case on his back. He’d seemed offended when they’d offered him the use of one of the spare horses, and insisted his own feet were all he needed. Privately, Perrin doubted he and the other two Aiel would be able to keep up when they rode south in search of the Waygate Loial said was in the Tunaighan Hills, but he wasn’t about to argue with them. Aiel had a certain reputation after all. The few villagers who recognised Gaul for what he was smelled of fear when he was walking towards them, and of hate when his back was turned. Oddly, for all that they were surrounded by potentially hostile strangers, Bain and Chiad kept almost as much distance from Gaul as they did from the Shienarans. Like Gaul, they were accoutred with weapons and blankets, water bottles and camping equipment.

Loial was already mounted, on a huge, hairy-fetlocked horse, taller than any of the others by hands yet reduced nearly to pony size by the Ogier’s long legs hanging down. There had been a time when the Ogier was almost as unwilling a rider as the Aiel, but he was at home on a horse now.

“Are you sure the Waygate will be usable?” Perrin asked him.

Loial scratched at one cheek. “I don’t see why not. Shaemal, like Manetheren, no longer exists, but the Waygate that was placed in its grove should be intact.”

“But what if it’s been walled up? Or buried underground?”

“That would present a problem,” said Loial, blinking. “Do you think we should call Rand back? Can you contact him the—”

Perrin waved him to silence. Discussing that with the Inner Circle had been awkward enough; he certainly wasn’t about to talk about it in public.

“What are we meant to find here?” Zarine asked behind him. She had not stopped asking questions; she just did not ask them of the Aes Sedai or the Warder. “Aringill showed us Grey Men and the Wild Hunt. What does Tunaighan hold that someone wants to keep you from so badly?”

Perrin glanced around; none of the dockmen about seemed to have heard. He was sure he would have smelled fear if they had. He bit back the sharp remark that hung on the end of his tongue. She had a quicker tongue, and a sharper.

“I wish you did not sound so eager,” Loial rumbled. “You seem to think it will all be as easy as Aringill, Faile.”

Perrin grimaced. He wished Loial had not decided to call Zarine by that name she had chosen; it was a constant reminder that Moiraine thought she was Min’s falcon. And it did nothing to stop Perrin wondering if she was the beautiful woman Min had warned him against, too.  _ At least I’ve not run up against the hawk. Or a  _ Tuatha’an _ with a sword! Now that would be the strangest of all, or I am a wool merchant! _

“Easy?” Zarine muttered. “Easy! Loial, we were nearly killed twice in one night. Aringill was enough for a Hunter’s song in itself. What makes you call it easy?”

“Experience,” Anna said succinctly. Though Zarine was much the taller of the two women, Anna managed to make it seem she was looking down at her as she marched by with her unstrung bow in hand, leading her white mare, Moonlight. “You see things, travelling with Rand, that make Grey Men seem commonplace.”

Zarine tried to scowl at her but it didn’t quite work. If she looked like a falcon right then, it was a very uneasy falcon. “With ... Rand. The ... The Prophecies say ... The Light burn me,  _ ta’veren _ , is this a story I want to be in?”

“It is not a story, Zarine.” For a moment Perrin felt hopeless. He’d like stories once. They were a lot more enjoyable when you were reading them instead of living them. “The Wheel weaves us into the Pattern. You chose to tangle your thread with ours; it’s too late to untangle it, now.”  _ Too late for me, too _ .

“Light!” Zarine growled. “Now you sound like her!”

“Stop asking questions, Zarine,” he said in his best Moiraine impression; not that he was very good at impressions. “You will find out why we are here when we decide to tell you.” He swung up into Stepper’s saddle.

She turned those dark, tilted eyes on him. For a moment he thought she was going to stick out her tongue at him. “I do not think you know why, blacksmith. I think that is why you will not tell me, because you cannot. Admit it, farmboy.”

With a small sigh, he rode off the docks after Moiraine and Lan. Zarine did not dig at Loial in that cutting way when the Ogier refused to answer her questions. He thought she must be trying to browbeat him into using that name. He would not.

Loial looked back and forth at Perrin and Zarine. “We should be on our way,” he said morosely. “It will likely take Rand longer to reach his destination than it will take us to reach ours, but we should still be sure we are in place when he gives the word.”

“The Ogier’s suggestion is a good one,” said Lan. He and Moiraine were already in their saddles.

Uno set the pace when they left the village, and a quick pace it was. They galloped down the dirt road, past farms and vineyards while roughly clad Andorans watched them speed by. Perrin wondered at the pace—it wasn’t like the grizzled and experienced Uno to rush ahead—but a glance backwards showed the Aiel falling behind and gave him a hint as to the reason. The Aiel Waste was on the other side of the Spine of the World from Shienar, and Aiel often raided through the passes. Masema wasn’t the only Shienaran to bear a grudge against them.

They kept up the pace until Moiraine called for them to slow. Only then, breathing almost as hard as his lathered horse, did Perrin rein Stepper to a walk.

“Where are Bain and Chiad?” Zarine said. “It will take them an hour to catch up now. I wish they would ride. I offered to buy them horses, and they looked offended. Well, we need to walk the horses anyway after that, to let them cool down.”

Looking back, past the line of packhorses led by Hurin, Saeri and Luci, Perrin had no difficulty at all seeing the three people running toward them in long, ground-eating strides, their flowing ease belying the pace. He did not think he could have run that fast, not for long, but the Aiel had to have maintained their speed all the way from the ferry to be that close behind.

“We’ll not have to wait that long,” he said.

Zarine frowned back down the road. “Is that them? Are you certain?” Abruptly the frown shifted to him for a moment, daring him to answer. “He is very boastful of his eyesight,” she told Loial, “but his memory is not very good. At times I think he would forget to light a candle at night if I did not remind him. I expect he’s seen some poor family making their way to market, don’t you?”

Loial shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, sighing heavily, and muttered something about humans that Perrin doubted was complimentary. Zarine did not notice, of course, no more than she noticed the looks Anna and Min gave her before putting their heads together.

Not too many minutes later, Zarine stared at Perrin as the three Aiel drew close enough for her to make out, but she said nothing. In this mood, she was not about to admit he had been right about anything, not if he said the sky was blue. The Aiel were not even breathing hard when they slowed to a halt beside the horses.

“It is too bad it was not a longer run.” Bain shared a smile with Chiad, and both gave Gaul a sly look.

“Else we could have run this Stone Dog into the ground,” Chiad said as if finishing the other woman’s sentence. “That is why Stone Dogs take their vows not to retreat. Stone bones and stone heads make them too heavy to run.”

Gaul took no offense, though Perrin noticed he stood where he could keep an eye on them. “Do you know why Maidens are so often used as scouts, Perrin? Because they can run so far. And that comes from being afraid some man might want to marry them. A Maiden will run a hundred miles to avoid that.”

“Very wise of them,” Zarine said tartly. “Do you need to rest?” she asked the Aiel women, and looked surprised when they denied it.

At the head of the column, Lan was saying something to Uno and Geko. Perrin could not hear them over the sounds of the rest of their companions but when they resumed their journey it was at a much more sensible trot.

The sun was low on the horizon by the time they arrived at a village large enough to have its own inn; The Full Cup, as the sign outside proclaimed it. Moiraine assigned Geko to arrange for as many rooms as could be had, before handing the reins of her horse off to Areku.

“Lan, let us see what we can discover,” she said. “The rest of you, stay close to the inn.”

“ ‘Stay close to the inn,’ ” Zarine mimicked as the Aes Sedai and the Warder disappeared around a corner. But she said it quietly enough that they would not hear. “It seems they mean us to wait and watch while they go adventuring. Not that I will complain.”

He doubted that last. Min did too. “You’d think a Borderlander girl with a penchant for questioning other people’s heroism would be less dismayed at the idea of fighting the Shadow,” she muttered to Anna as they tended their horses. Her voice was low enough that Perrin would have thought Zarine hadn’t heard, but for the way she flinched.

He led Stepper off to the stable, where Heita was helping Luci to unsaddle her oversized gelding. They exchanged quiet words, him more so than her, though she did speak occasionally. Given how deathly silent Luci had been when they first met her back in Nethara, Perrin considered that good progress.

When he was finished brushing Stepper down, he made his way to the inn’s common room, where the harried innkeeper and her employees were struggling to cope with the sudden influx of guests. Perrin doubted they would all fit; the inn was smaller than the Winespring Inn back home. He shook his head wryly. There had been a time he considered the Winespring Inn to be a huge place. He looked forward to seeing it again, along with the rest of Emond’s Field. And he especially looked forward to seeing his family. How big would Paetram have gotten in the year he was gone? He’d be ten by now. But alongside his eagerness there was a dread he hadn’t felt since their return drew so close. If somewhere like the Winespring Inn no longer matched his memories of it, then might the same not be true of him? What would his parents think of all the things he had done? What would they say about his eyes?

He sank onto one of the chairs surrounding a small, wooden table that was already being shared by Zarine, Anna, Min and Hurin. Loial leaned against the wall nearby, hunching his shoulders in a futile attempt to avoid standing out. One of the serving girls was so busy darting incredulous looks at him that she tripped over her own feet, spilling a tankard of ale over Han’s head. His fellow armsmen laughed, but Han just stared morosely at the drink dripping to the floor and sighed at the waste. The innkeeper’s angry rebukes chased the girl back to the kitchen.

“I will not pretend I am not afraid,” Zarine said suddenly. “Only a fool would not be afraid of the Forsaken or the Dragon Reborn. But I swore I would be one of you, and I will. That is all that I wanted to say.”

Everyone else at the table stared at her but she refused to meet their eyes. Perrin shook his head.  _ She must be crazy. I could wish I were not one of this party _ .

When the second serving girl contrived to spill soup all over the table Uno was sitting at, Loial heaved a rumbling sigh. “I think I will go and work on my book,” he said, before slouching off.

Zarine looked at Perrin, her head tilted to one side. “And what are you going to do, blacksmith?”

“First,” he told her, “I am going to have something to eat. And then I am going to think about a hammer.”  _ And try to puzzle out how I feel about you. Falcon _ .


	23. Hunters

CHAPTER 20: Hunters

Nynaeve didn’t know many of her fellow students in the White Tower that well. Some she knew by name, others only by appearance, but there weren’t any that she could be as sure of as she was Dani. It made deciding who to approach difficult. On the plus side, worrying over that provided a welcome distraction from the unjust punishments that the Amyrlin and the Mistress of Novices meted out for their supposedly running away.

Some she rejected out of hand, like that walking toothache Faolain and the ever-sour Idrelle. She dismissed Marith too, for Elayne did not get along with her. Not that that mattered, as it turned out. Marith had been among those raised to Aes Sedai during Nynaeve’s time away from the Tower, a group that unfortunately included Carina, whose vocal devotion to the Light had put her high on Nynaeve’s list of candidates. Perhaps it was for the best though; surprisingly, Carina had chosen the Red Ajah.

Her days would have been full enough with all the other tasks before her; the addition of the various lessons—from which she had not been excused—left her run ragged. Not that the Aes Sedai had the decency to take that into account, of course.

“Perhaps someone less scatterbrained could give me the correct answer,” Atuan said rudely.

Nynaeve’s cheeks coloured. She scowled at the desk, and all the harder because she didn’t quite dare meet the Taraboner Aes Sedai’s eyes. She had enough to cope with without borrowing trouble.

Hands were raised throughout the half-empty classroom. Nynaeve had never minded the multitude of empty desks that these classes almost always featured, for all that the Aes Sedai often lamented the lack of potential Novices they found these days. It allowed her privacy. But now she had cause to regret it. She sat alone, half-listening to the Yellow sister’s lecture, with no opportunity to interact with the other Accepted.

“Shimoku,” Atuan said, pointing at a pretty little woman who would have been right at home in Fal Dara.

“You should Delve the patient afterwards in order ascertain if any unanticipated changes have been made to their body by the Healing, Aes Sedai,” Shimoku said solemnly, and in an accent Nynaeve didn’t recognise. She didn’t quite recognise the girl herself for that matter, but she thought she might have seen her in Novice white during her previous stay in the Tower.

“Correct,” said Atuan.

Nynaeve’s scowl deepened.  _ I knew that, I just have other things on my mind _ .

“Continue to pay as close attention as you do, Shimoku, and you may make up for your other shortcomings,” Atuan continued. “While all channelers are, of course, a breed apart from other humans, the strongest of us are not always the most talented. For every Cadsuane there is a Tetsuan, mores the pity.”

Nynaeve’s hand went to her braid almost of its own accord.  _ I won’t say a word _ , she told herself as she tugged at her hair.

Shimoku didn’t seem to take Atuan’s words as a compliment. A small sigh escaped her and her shoulders slumped ever so slightly. Her voice remained solemn though. “Thank you, Aes Sedai.”

Sharp and resentful glances rained down on Shimoku from most of those who had not been singled out by the Aes Sedai. Other than herself, Nynaeve saw only two Accepted in the class who did not seem annoyed by the other woman’s success.

One was Emara, who had spent most of the class fidgeting nervously. When she had brought her into her trust, Nynaeve had made the need for secrecy as plain as she could to the Illianer—and to be fair she had dutifully refrained from looking Nynaeve’s way throughout the lesson—but her general demeanour fairly begged for someone to ask her what was wrong. She hoped Emara was quick witted enough to come up with a better excuse than “the Black Ajah is among us!”

The other was Mayam, one of the older Accepted. Dark and slender, she lounged in her seat with a bored look on her face. Normally Nynaeve would have avoided Mayam—the woman had a reputation of which she greatly disapproved—but the very reputation which had led to her spending so long as both a Novice and now as an Accepted had allowed her to come into her full strength in the Power before being made Aes Sedai, and that could be useful.

_ I’ll speak to her after class _ , she decided.

But when Atuan finally dismissed them, Nynaeve found her path blocked by Shimoku.

“I know you could have answered that question, Nynaeve—I’ve heard you answer it in other classes. I hope I didn’t offend,” she said, with painful politeness.

“Why would I be offended?” Nynaeve asked, watching Mayam saunter out of the classroom.

“Many would be, given the comparison of my strength to yours.”

Nynaeve scowled. In the way of such things, she could feel the other woman’s ability to channel, now that they stood close, as well as her potential strength. It wasn’t high, but then neither was Dani’s. She couldn’t see why that should matter. “What a man-stupid thing to think. Big muscles won’t do you any good if you don’t know how to use them.”

Far from being offended at Nynaeve’s tone, Shimoku smiled shyly. “That’s kind of you to say. Well, sort of.”

Nynaeve’s lips quirked towards a smile, before she reminded herself that no-one was to be trusted. “I don’t recognise the accent ...” she said leadingly.

“I’m from Chachin, in Kaltor,” said Shimoku.

A Borderlander. That didn’t really guarantee anything, but Nynaeve still felt reassured. Lan was a Borderlander.  _ So is Lady Amalisa, and all those men who fought with Rand in Falmerden _ , she reminded herself hastily.

She considered the Kaltori for a moment. Rushing into things was, usually, a bad idea, but in her case she had little choice. She could hardly afford to spend months getting to know the other Accepted; the Black Ajah’s trail was getting cold. And she had a good feeling about Shimoku.

“Do you have any plans for the rest of the day, say about Trine?”

Shimoku raised her brows. “Not particularly. I was just going to study in the library.”

“Well there’s something I’d like to talk to you about,” Nynaeve said grimly. “Could you meet me in my room at about that time?”

She seemed taken aback, but nodded slowly. “Alright. I think I know which room is yours.”

“I’ll hang my herb pouch on the door handle, so you’ll know for certain.”

“Okay.”

“Then I’ll see you later,” Nynaeve said, and hurried past her. There might still be time to catch Mayam.

Outside however, she saw no sign of the woman. Picking a direction at random, Nynaeve hurried down the corridor. Joyce gave her a surprised look when she rushed past but did not rebuke her for her undignified pace. There was one Aes Sedai Nynaeve could not imagine being Black Ajah; she wondered what reason the Amyrlin had to remain suspicious of her, and all the others.  _ She knows them better than I do _ , she reminded herself.

Her steps brought her near the Mistress of Novices’ office, but there was still no sign of Mayam. Nynaeve stopped running when the door opened. Sheriam would give such behaviour much shorter shrift than Joyce did.

Mair emerged from the office, looking rather chastened, and a bit slimmer than Nynaeve remembered her being. She blinked at the sight of Nynaeve, and a sudden scowl appeared on her round face.

“Mat Cauthon’s friend,” she growled. “Did he send you with a message? Well you tell him I don’t want to see or hear from him ever again!”

Nynaeve planted her fists on her hips. Being angry with Mat was something that no sensible woman needed a reason for, to her mind, but there was no call for the woman to speak to her that way. “Mat Cauthon has never ‘sent’ me anywhere, and he never will,” she declared. She should check up on him though. “That scoundrel couldn’t be trusted to mind a pastry stall without eating half the wares.” He’d been kept in the Tower for a long time. It wouldn’t be good for him. “What do you think you are about, raising your voice to me?” she shouted politely.

Mair’s full lips couldn’t quite make a thin line, much though she tried to make them. “Isn’t being from his village reason enough?”

She sniffed. “Mat was notorious in Emond’s Field. You’d be a fool to think him a good example of Theren folk.”

“Well. That’s good. I guess,” Mair said in a more normal tone, crossing her arms defensively.

Nynaeve sniffed again, just to make her point clear. Still. That the woman took issue with Mat’s behaviour spoke well of her—whatever his latest ignominy had been.

The door to Sheriam’s office opened again and the Mistress of Novices stepped into the corridor, looking cross. “What is all this racket about?” she demanded.

“Nothing, Sheriam Sedai,” Mair said hastily. “I was just saying hello.”

Sheriam’s ageless face took on a knowing cast. “Then say it more quietly, child. You have enough work to do if you want to get back into my good graces. Don’t make things harder for yourself.”

Mair curtsied deeply. “As you say, Sheriam Sedai.”

“Be off with you.”

Nynaeve watched thoughtfully as Mair left. It wasn’t much to go on, but disapproving of Mat was at least a small mark in the woman’s favour. She had something else to worry about just then though. She glanced about to make sure they were alone before speaking.

“What of ... the body, Sheriam Sedai? The ... the Soulless? Have you discovered anything? Such as why he entered the Tower?”

Sheriam’s mouth tightened. “Always you take one step forward, Nynaeve, and then two steps back. I told you not to speak of it. And I meant even to me. There are exactly eight people in the Tower who know a man was killed recently in the Novices’ quarters, and two of them are men who know no more than that. Except that they are to keep their mouths shut. If an order from the Mistress of Novices carries no weight with you—and if that is so, I will correct you—perhaps you will obey one from the Amyrlin Seat. You are to speak of this to no-one. The Amyrlin will not have more rumours piled on those we must already contend with. Do I make myself clear?”

“Eight, you said, Sheriam Sedai,” Nynaeve persisted. “Plus whoever sent him. And maybe he had help getting into the Tower.”

“That is no concern of yours.” Sheriam’s level gaze strove to silence her. “I will ask whatever questions must be asked about this man. You will forget you know anything at all about a dead man. If I discover you are doing anything else ... Well, there are worse things than scrubbing pots to occupy your attention. And I will not accept any excuses. Do I hear any more questions?”

_ I’ll get no help from her _ . “No, Sheriam Sedai.”

Nynaeve didn’t know who was teaching the Novice classes today, but she figured it was as good a place as any to look for her quarry. The first room she poked her head into proved to be Idrelle’s class; she didn’t wait for the lanky woman’s frown to turn into a rebuke before withdrawing. The second was headed by a plump young woman that she didn’t recognise. The third was Pedra’s—a maths class judging by what she saw on the chalkboard and the presence of several male clerks with their abaci. The Accepted didn’t break off her lecture at Nynaeve’s intrusion, but simply glanced her way and raised a brow. Nynaeve shook her head and closed the door quietly. Pedra was nearly as unfriendly as Idrelle; even if she wasn’t a Darkfriend, Nynaeve didn’t want her company.

“Why are you lurking about here?” asked an unfamiliar voice.

The speaker was a pretty, red-haired woman in an Accepted’s banded dress. Her mouth was curled arrogantly and there was a hard challenge in her clear green eyes.

“My business is none of yours,” said Nynaeve, taking a firm hold of her braid.

“Oh? And what if I say it is?” the woman said, stepping closer.

Nynaeve frowned at her incredulously. Not only was it expressly forbidden for one student to threaten another in the White Tower, now that she stood so close she could feel the other woman’s strength and it was not even close to Nynaeve’s. “What if you do?” she snorted.

“Don’t get above yourself, little girl,” the redhead continued. “You’d better have a good reason to be sticking your nose where it isn’t welcome.”

_ Who is this delusional fool? _ Nynaeve thought.  _ Who does she think she is? And for that matter, what business does  _ she _ have to be wandering about here? She’s plainly not teaching a class _ .

She opened her mouth to ask those very questions, but before she could speak, a girl’s scream sounded from one of the classrooms behind her.

Instinct had Nynaeve’s hand on the door handle almost before she realised she’d taken a step. She pushed open the door to Pedra’s classroom and found the Novices that had been sitting quietly at their desks only a few moments ago now on their feet, cowering away from a handsome, yellow-haired man who was staring at his own hands in horror.

“What is going on here?” Nynaeve said, in her best Wisdom’s voice.

“Get an Aes Sedai,” Pedra gritted. She was clutching at the front of her white dress, and sweat was beading on her suddenly pale face. “I think I can hold the shield, but I don’t know for how long.”

“A shield? On him? He’s just a clerk,” said the unwelcome addition, who had followed Nynaeve unnoticed.

“It wasn’t  _ saidar _ that set fire to that abacus, Fana,” Pedra said curtly, pointing at the burnt remains on the floor. “Do you think I wouldn’t know the difference?” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the excited and fearful babbling of the Novices.

“I wouldn’t put it past you. But we’ll see. Release him. If he’s really what you think, then I can deal with him. It will be easy.”

“I-I. I didn’t ... what happened? I feel so ... strange,” gasped the man, blinking rapidly. Nynaeve was torn between pity and horror. It could have easily been one of the Novices that were burned, and if he really was what Pedra was claiming then, with the taint on  _ saidin _ , he was already doomed.  _ As doomed as Rand, Light help us _ .

The other Accepted, Fana, was nowhere near as torn as Nynaeve. “Stop your whimpering, Mical. I thought your sort were supposed to be fearsome.”

“Fana, not now,” said Pedra. “Just go and find one of the sisters. Please.”

“Oh, fine. But only because you begged me to,” Fana said. She left the doorway in which they’d been standing and strolled down the corridor, complying with Pedra’s request, but taking her own sweet time about it.

Nynaeve shook her head as she watched her go. The Amyrlin might think it unlikely that any Accepted were members of the Black Ajah, but Nynaeve was not half so certain. And that one was a prime candidate, or she was the queen of the Aiel.

“What happened?” Nynaeve said, coming farther into the room.

Pedra didn’t take her eyes off Mical, who sat on his stool, alone in the crowded room, wide-eyed and trembling. “I was showing the new girl how to embrace  _ saidar _ when suddenly there was a fire in the room. I didn’t cause it, and I was the only one channelling the Power at the time. Or the only one channelling  _ saidar _ at least.”

The excited babbling rose in pitch, so Nynaeve went to stand close to Pedra.

“I didn’t do anything,” Mical whispered as she walked past. “Please, Light, I didn’t ...” Nynaeve hardened her heart, and ignored him.

“Do you need help?” she said quietly.

Pedra looked a little surprised. She was a short, wiry woman, who would not have looked out of place in the Theren if her hair had been in a proper braid instead of a loose ponytail. “I can manage. If you could get rid of the Novices though, I’d be grateful.”

“Right.” Nynaeve raised her voice and clapped her hands together. “Stop that babbling! You sound like a gaggle of boys gossiping about things they shouldn’t. Class is over for now. Get back to your rooms, or chores, or whatever else you should be doing. And if you have nothing to do, then you can be sure I’ll find something for you.” When only a few of the Novices moved, and those a bit too slowly for her liking, Nynaeve suddenly missed the stout stick she had always carried with her back in Emond’s Field. She took a white-knuckled grip on her braid instead, and pointed angrily at the door. “Was I speaking the Old Tongue? Out, if you value our hides!”

That got them moving, first in a few pairs and then in a stampede. All the girls made certain to avoid the lone man sitting quietly on his stool; some practically hugged the walls in their efforts to stay as far away from him as they could. Even his fellow clerks avoided him. In fact, the other two men in the livery of Tar Valon were among the first out the door. They did not glance back but took off running as soon as their boots touched the stone floor of the corridor, as though afraid that what had afflicted Mical was contagious.

One stubborn Novice lingered at the door. “I can help.”

“No you can’t, Ashara. And I don’t need help,” Pedra said curtly. The girl looked like she wanted to say more, but at Pedra’s frown she withdrew in sulky silence.

Soon enough, Nynaeve was left with Pedra and Mical in the suddenly too quiet classroom. The clerk had lowered his head into his hands. She thought he might have been crying.  _ There’s nothing I can do for him _ .

The silence grew uncomfortable but Nynaeve wasn’t about to talk about what was on her mind while the clerk was sitting there. Pedra looked afraid, as any woman might be when faced with a male channeler, but she hadn’t let her fear prevent her from doing her job and protecting the Novices. Being less than friendly wasn’t the worst thing in the world. After all, there were some people—a few!—who might have said Nynaeve was less than friendly herself.

The sound of rapidly approaching footsteps came as a relief. Fana soon appeared, followed by a familiar Domani Accepted and an unfamiliar Aes Sedai. The sister was a handsome woman in a richly embroidered crimson dress that showed more cleavage than was proper. The woman’s black hair was braided in the Taraboner fashion and her blue eyes were as cold as they were confident. They flickered over Nynaeve and Pedra, and dismissed them both, before coming to rest on the seated man.

“The shield. Release it, Accepted. I will take things from here,” she said.

“Of course, Fillipa Sedai,” said Pedra.

Nynaeve could not see what was done—her temper was proving hard to stoke in the circumstances—but Pedra looked relieved to be rid of her burden.

The Aes Sedai noticed her reaction, too. “You did reasonably well in capturing him before he could do any harm, but an Aes Sedai, she must be fearless in the face of such dangers. Control yourself,” she said, looking down at the Accepted in a way that made her already pronounced chin seem even larger.

Pedra flushed in shame. “As you say, Aes Sedai.”

“Please, sister,” Mical said suddenly, raising his head. She saw that he had, as she suspected, been crying. “I don’t know what’s wrong. Can you help me?”

“Be silent. You will be dealt with as soon as the Hall can be gathered,” Fillipa said coldly.

“There’s no need to be cruel,” Nynaeve blurted, then silently cursed herself for the outburst. She had more important things to be dealing with, and Aes Sedai scrutiny would only hinder her.

“Your weak stomach will get you nowhere,” Fana put in unhelpfully.

Fillipa’s gaze took in them both, and her face showed no sign of her thoughts. “Fana. I do not care to drag this wretch through the halls to meet his fate. It is undignified. So you will do it for me.”

“As you wish, Aes Sedai,” Fana said, with barely concealed resentment.

“As for you ... Nynaeve, is it? I’ve heard of you. And what I heard, it was not good. Undisciplined, they say. Wilful. Me, I have a very successful history of disciplining wilful girls. Speak out of turn to me again and you will become a part of that history, yes?”

The woman reminded her suddenly of Moiraine, for all that the Red and the Blue Ajahs were so often at odds. Nynaeve set her jaw and dipped a curtsy, not trusting herself to speak.

Fana took Mical by the collar and dragged him to his feet. A shove set him in motion towards the door, but not fast enough for her. Another shove nearly knocked him over. Nynaeve ground her teeth.

Fillipa led the way, brushing past Theodrin, who had watched the whole exchange from the doorway in solemn silence. When the despairing clerk stumbled past her, Theodrin reached out to pat him on the arm.

“I’m sorry, Mical. Be strong,” she whispered.

“Enough of that,” Fillipa said sharply. “Theodrin, help the other two to clean up that classroom. And while you are about it, think on all the damage that might have been done if this one was not stopped so quickly. Words we have had already on this, you and I. You do not want them repeated, yes?”

Theodrin curtsied. “No, Fillipa Sedai. My apologies,” she said calmly.

The Aes Sedai held her stare on Theodrin for a moment longer, before nodding in satisfaction and leading her procession away. And leading Mical to the fate of all male channelers. Gentling they called it. Nynaeve had never seen it done but she’d seen the aftermath. Either Logain Ablar, the false Dragon, was a weak-livered coward, or Gentling was a very unpleasant fate.

_ Rand should be spared that much, for good or ill. They won’t dare Gentle him, not with Tarmon Gai’don coming. Afterwards though ... _

Pedra blew out a loud breath once the Aes Sedai and her prisoner were gone. She took a handkerchief from her pouch and dabbed at the sweat on her face. Theodrin came into the room and surveyed the mess; chair and desks knocked over, charred debris on the floor. She shook her head sadly. Nynaeve had been meaning to speak to her as soon as she found the chance. And Pedra ... Burn it, she would do.

She poked her head out the door, looked both ways, and on seeing no-one nearby, ducked back inside and firmly shut the door.

“Well the sooner we start the sooner we’ll finish,” Pedra said briskly.

Nynaeve fished a certain rolled up piece of paper out of her pouch. “That can wait. Come here, there’s something I want the both of you to see.” She went to the table that dominated one end of the room, where the person, Aes Sedai or Accepted, who was teaching the class usually sat. She didn’t much care if Pedra was offended by her taking the seat there. She set her paper on the table and began unrolling it.

“What is that, Nynaeve?” Theodrin asked as she glided over. Tall and slender, she had a gracious way about her.

Her shorter companion was somewhat shorter on grace, too, but curiosity drew her near, even as her lips thinned in annoyance at Nynaeve’s presumption.

Nynaeve turned the unrolled paper around and watched their faces as they read the Amyrlin Seat’s words. She saw shock, curiosity, and wariness.

“How did—” Theodrin began, before dismissing her own question with a shake of her head. Unless Nynaeve was mad enough to forge the Amyrlin’s signature it was quite obvious how she had gotten it. “Why did she give you that?”

“And why are you showing it to us?” added a wide-eyed Pedra.

“You noticed the part about keeping silent?” she said, and when they nodded began rolling her paper up again. “Well heed it carefully because what I’m about to tell you is not to be spoken of to anyone other than myself or the Amyrlin. Even an Aes Sedai. If one of them asks you about this, you are to deny all knowledge. Lie to her if you have to. Am I understood?”

“No, you are not. Lie to an Aes Sedai?” Pedra said incredulously.

“At the Amyrlin Seat’s order, yes,” Nynaeve confirmed.

Theodrin pulled one of the Novice’s chairs closer and sat down. “What is this about, Nynaeve?” she whispered, leaning in close.

Nynaeve looked back and forth between the two Accepted.  _ My army _ . For a moment, she wanted to call the whole thing off. She didn’t want to lead these women into danger. But she couldn’t hope to stop the Black Ajah all by herself, and letting them run around doing as they pleased just wasn’t an option.  _ Light forgive me _ .

“The Black Ajah is real. And the Amyrlin Seat has charged me with hunting them down. Specifically with hunting down the thirteen traitors who killed all those people in the Tower a while back, including the three Aes Sedai. You’ve heard of that, I assume.”

Pedra went pale, and even Theodrin seemed to lose a few shades of copper. It reminded her suddenly of Dani and Ilyena from the other night. She hoped these two would face the revelation with as much pluck as that pair had shown.

“The Black Ajah,” Theodrin whispered.

“Impossible,” croaked Pedra. “There are no Aes Sedai Darkfriends.”

Nynaeve sniffed. “That’s what they want you to think. The normal sisters because it spares their blushes, and the Aes Sedai Darkfriends so that no-one will come looking for them.”

They were silent for a time, until Theodrin spoke again. “The Amyrlin entrusted you with this? Why? And which Aes Sedai are you working with.”

“She entrusted me because Liandrin, one of the Black sisters, tried to kill me. And I’m not working with any Aes Sedai, only Accepted.”

“You? Alone? Against a full sister, against thirteen full sisters?” said Pedra, with growing alarm.

“No. Me and the other Accepted against thirteen full sisters,” Nynaeve clarified, fixing her with a steady look.

The shorter woman’s eyes widened even further. “You mean us?”

“I do. You and some others.”

Theodrin sat back in her chair and covered her mouth with one slim hand.

Nynaeve watched as they absorbed what she’d told them. After a time she said, “I won’t order you, though the Amyrlin’s message does say to obey me, as I’m sure you noticed. There’s no point in taking anyone who doesn’t dare face these Darkfriends. If you want out, you can go. But you will say not a word of this to anyone, or you’ll answer to me. If the Amyrlin doesn’t get to you first.”

“The Black Ajah,” Theodrin repeated. She sighed softly. “Aes Sedai Darkfriends.” After a long pause, she raised her eyes to meet Nynaeve’s. They were a brown so dark it was almost black, and they held a quiet resolve. “I’m in.”

Pedra had her arms tightly folded and was digging her fingernails into her own forearms. She didn’t seem to realise she was going it. “If there truly are ... If Aes Sedai serve the Dark One, then they must be stopped. No matter the cost. I’m in, too.”

Nynaeve let out her breath slowly, more relieved than she cared to admit. She had more than half Liandrin’s numbers now, and with several candidates still to meet. Ideally, she wanted to match or better the thirteen members the Black Ajah had thus far revealed, but she would take what she could get. She just hoped she wasn’t leading these women to their deaths.


	24. A World of Dreams

CHAPTER 21: A World of Dreams

Elayne scrubbed her hands with a towel as she hurried down the dimly lit corridor. She had washed them twice, but they still felt greasy. It gave her a new appreciation for the work the palace staff had always done. Today had been bake day, so buckets of ashes had had to be hauled from the ovens. And the hearths cleaned. And the tables rubbed bone-white with fine sand, and the floors scrubbed on hands and knees. Ash and grease stained her white dress. Her back ached, and she wanted to be in her bed, but Verin had come to the kitchens, supposedly for a meal to eat in her rooms, and whispered a summons to her in passing.

Verin had her quarters above the library, in corridors used only by a few other Brown sisters. There was a dusty air to the halls there, as if the women who lived along them were too busy with other things to bother having the servants clean very often, and the passages took odd turns and twists, sometimes dipping or rising unexpectedly. The tapestries were few, their colourful weavings dulled, apparently cleaned as seldom as everything else here. Many of the lamps were unlit, plunging much of the hall into gloom. Elayne thought she had it to herself, except for a flash of white ahead, perhaps a Novice or a servant scurrying about some task. Her shoes, clicking on bare black and white floor tiles, made echoes. It was not a comforting place for one thinking of the Black Ajah.

She found what Verin had told her to look for. A dark panelled door at the top of a rise, beside a dusty tapestry of a king on horse back receiving the surrender of another king. Verin had named the pair of them—men dead hundreds of years before Artur Hawkwing was born; Verin always seemed to know such things.

Minus the sound of her own footsteps, the hallway seemed even emptier than before, and more threatening. She rapped on the door, and entered hurriedly on the heels of an absentminded “Who is it? Come in.”

One step into the room, she stopped and stared. Shelves lined the walls, except for one door that must lead to inner rooms and except for where maps hung, often in layers, and what seemed to be charts of the night sky. She recognized the names of some constellations—the Ploughman and the Haywain, the Archer and the Five Sisters—but others were unfamiliar. Books and papers and scrolls covered nearly every flat surface, with all sorts of odd things interspersed among the piles, and sometimes on top of them. Strange shapes of glass or metal, spheres and tubes interlinked, and circles held inside circles, stood among bones and skulls of every shape and description. What appeared to be a stuffed brown owl, not much bigger than Elayne’s hand, stood on what seemed to be a bleached white lizard’s skull, but could not be, for the skull was longer than her arm and had crooked teeth as big as her fingers. Candlesticks had been stuck about in a haphazard fashion, giving good light here and shadows there, although seeming in danger of setting fire to papers in some places. The owl blinked at her, and she jumped.

“Ah, yes,” Verin said. She was seated behind a table as cluttered as everything else in the room, a torn page held carefully in her hands. “It is you. Yes.” She noticed Elayne’s sideways glance at the owl, and said absently, “He keeps down mice. They chew paper.” Her gesture took in the entire room, and reminded her of the page she held. “Fascinating, this. Rosel of Essam claimed more than a hundred pages survived the Breaking, and she should have known, since she wrote barely two hundred years afterwards, but only this one piece still exists, so far as I know. Perhaps only this very copy. Rosel wrote that it held secrets the world could not face, and she would not speak of them plainly. I have read this page a thousand times, trying to decipher what she meant.”

The tiny owl blinked at Elayne again. She tried not to look at it. “What does it say, Verin Sedai?”

Verin blinked, very much as the owl had. “What does it say? It is a direct translation, mind, and reads almost like a bard reciting in High Chant. Listen. ‘Heart of the Dark. Ba’alzamon. Name hidden within name shrouded by name. Secret buried within secret cloaked by secret. Betrayer of Hope. Ishamael betrays all hope. Truth burns and sears. Hope fails before truth. A lie is our shield. Who can stand against the Heart of the Dark? Who can face the Betrayer of Hope? Soul of shadow, Soul of the Shadow, he is—’ ” She stopped with a sigh. “It ends there. What do you make of it?”

Elayne knew the answer but hesitated to give it. Verin had been with them in Falmerden when Rand first convened his Inner Circle, but she had not been invited to join it. Was it appropriate for her to reveal the secrets he had shared with her back then? Perhaps not in some cases, she decided, but this particular truth was too important to bury. “I think she knew that Ishamael was not bound at Shayol Ghul with the other Forsaken, and that Ba’alzamon was one of his aliases. She must have decided that that was something the world was not ready to know, though I can’t guess her reasons.”

Verin didn’t seem as surprised by that as Elayne had expected her to be. “Well, why should you understand it, child?” Verin carefully placed the page inside a silk-lined folder of stiff leather, then casually stuffed the folder into a stack of papers. “But you did not come for that.” She rummaged across the table, muttering to herself, several times barely catching a pile of books or manuscripts before it toppled. Finally she came up with a handful of pages covered in a thin, spidery hand and tied with nubby string. “Here, child. Everything that is known about Liandrin and the women who went with her. Names, ages, Ajahs, where they were born. Everything I could find in the records. Even how they performed in their studies. What we know of the  _ ter’angreal _ they took, too, which isn’t much. Only descriptions, for the most part. I do not know whether any of this will help. I saw nothing of any use in this.”

Elayne schooled her face to stillness. “Why would you give this to me, Verin Sedai?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes. I suppose I should have contacted her directly. Well, you won’t mind passing it along to her for me, now will you?” Verin said absently. No sly or knowing smile betrayed her, but Elayne suspected Verin was well aware that she had been helping Nynaeve in her investigation.

“I am sure Nynaeve will be glad of the information,” Elayne said politely.

The Aes Sedai blinked at her, then dismissed whatever thought had come to her with a shake of her head. “That list I gave you may be important, or it may be so much waste of paper, but it isn’t the only reason I summoned you.” She started moving things on the table, making some shaky stacks taller to clear a space.

“Sheriam believes in bringing girls along too slowly, in my opinion. Look here.” With one finger, Verin drew a number of parallel lines across the area she had cleared, lines clear in dust atop the old beeswax. “Let these represent worlds that might exist if different choices had been made, if major turning points in the Pattern had gone another way.”

“The worlds reached by the Portal Stones,” Elayne said. That was another thing she had learned of at Rand’s meeting, though those who had seen those worlds had been very reluctant to provide details of their experience.

“Very good. But the Pattern may be even more complex than that, child. The Wheel weaves our lives to make the Pattern of an Age, but the Ages themselves are woven into the Age Lace, the Great Pattern. Who can know if this is even the tenth part of the weaving, though? Some in the Age of Legends apparently believe that there were still other worlds—even harder to reach than the worlds of the Portal Stones, if that can be believed—lying like this.” She drew more lines, cross-hatching the first set. For a moment she stared at them. “The warp and the woof of the weave. Perhaps the Wheel of Time weaves a still greater Pattern from worlds.” Straightening, she dusted her hands. “Well, that is neither here nor there. In all of these worlds, whatever their other variations, a few things are constant. One is that the Dark One is imprisoned in all of them.”

Elayne stepped closer to peer at the lines Verin had drawn. “In all of them? How can that be? Are you saying there is a Father of Lies for each world?” The thought of so many Dark Ones made her shiver.

“No, child. There is one Creator, who exists everywhere at once for all of these worlds. In the same way, there is only one Dark One, who also exists in all of these worlds at once. If he is freed from the prison the Creator made in one world, he is freed on all. So long as he is kept prisoner in one, he remains imprisoned on all.”

“Forgive me, Verin Sedai, but I’m not sure that makes sense,” Elayne said.

“Paradox, child. The Dark One is the embodiment of paradox and chaos, the destroyer of reason and logic, the breaker of balance, the un-maker of order. We must all confront the Dark One in one way or another. He is imprisoned now, but the Pattern did not bring Rand al’Thor into the world for no purpose. The Dragon Reborn will face the Lord of the Grave; that much is sure. If Rand survives that long, of course. The Dark One will try to distort the Pattern, if he can. Well, we have gone rather far afield, haven’t we?”

The owl suddenly took flight on silent wings, landing atop a large white skull on a shelf behind the Aes Sedai. It peered down at the two women, blinking. Elayne had noticed the skull when she came in, with its curled horns and snout, and vaguely wondered what sort of ram had so big a head. Now she took in the roundness of it, the high forehead. Not a ram’s skull. A Trolloc.

Elayne shivered. “Why are you telling me this?”

Verin blinked confusedly. “Why? Oh, as I was saying, there is a third constant besides the Creator and the Dark One. There is a world that lies within each of these others, inside all of them at the same time. Or perhaps surrounding them. Writers in the Age of Legends called it  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ , “the Unseen World.” Perhaps “the World of Dreams” is a better translation. Many people—ordinary folk who could not think of channelling—sometimes glimpse  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ in their dreams, and even catch glimmers of these other worlds through it. Think of some of the peculiar things you have seen in your dreams. But a Dreamer, child—a true Dreamer—can enter  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ . You may have heard Rand speak of it. Or perhaps one of his friends.”

Again Elayne strove to hide her thoughts. This was a secret much more personal than that of Ba’alzamon’s identity. “What do you mean?”

Verin didn’t press her for more information. “The Amyrlin has entrusted a great task to Nynaeve and her helpers. They must reach out for any tool they might be able to use.” Verin dug a red wooden box from under the welter on her table. The box was large enough to hold sheets of paper, but when the Aes Sedai opened the lid a crack, all she pulled out was a ring carved from stone, all flecks and stripes of blue and brown and red, and too large to be a finger ring. “Here, child.”

Elayne shifted the papers to take it, and her eyes widened in surprise. The ring certainly looked like stone, but it felt harder than steel and heavier than lead. And the circle of it was twisted. If she ran a finger along one edge, it would go around twice, inside as well as out; it only had one edge. She moved her finger along that edge twice, just to convince herself.

“Corianin Nedeal,” Verin said, “had that  _ ter’angreal _ in her possession for most of her life. You will keep it, now.”

Elayne almost dropped the ring.  _ A  _ ter’angreal _? I am to keep a  _ ter’angreal _? _

Verin seemed not to notice her shock. “According to her, it allows passage to  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ . She claimed it would work for those without the ability to channel as well as for Aes Sedai without the Talent of Dreaming, so long as you are touching it when you sleep. There are dangers, of course.  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ is not like other dreams. What happens there is real; you are actually there instead of just glimpsing it.” She pushed back the sleeve of her dress, revealing a faded scar the length of her forearm. “I tried it myself, once, some years ago. Anaiya’s Healing did not work as well as it should have. Remember that.” The Aes Sedai let her sleeve cover the scar again.

“I will be careful, Verin Sedai.”  _ Real? My dreams are bad enough as they are _ . All too often they involved the  _ sul’dam _ that had enslaved her at Falme, or the Trollocs she had fought at Tarcain Cut. She didn’t want to relive those experiences.  _ I want no dreams that leave scars! I’ll leave it among my jewellery _ . “I’ll be very careful.” She slipped the ring into her pouch and tugged the drawstrings tight, then picked up the papers Verin had given her.

“Remember to keep it hidden, child. No Novice, or even an Accepted, should have a thing like that in her possession. But it may prove useful to you. Keep it hidden.”

“Yes, Verin Sedai.” Remembering Verin’s scar, she almost wished another Aes Sedai would come along and take it from her right then.

“Good, child. Now, off with you. It grows late, and you must be up early to help with breakfast. Sleep well.”

* * *

Verin sat looking at the door for a time after it closed behind Elayne. The owl hooted softly behind her. Pulling the red box to her, she opened the lid all the way and frowned at what nearly filled the space.

Page upon page, covered with a precise hand, the black ink barely faded after nearly five hundred years. Corianin Nedeal’s notes, everything she had learned in fifty years of studying that peculiar  _ ter’angreal _ . A secretive woman, Corianin. She had kept by far the greater part of her knowledge from everyone, trusting it only to these pages. Only chance and a habit of rummaging through old papers in the library had led Verin to them. As far as she could discover, no Aes Sedai besides herself knew of the  _ ter’angreal _ ; Corianin had managed to erase its existence from the records.

Once again she considered burning the manuscript, just as she had considered giving it to Elayne. But destroying knowledge, any knowledge, was anathema to her. And for the other ...  _ No. It is best by far to leave things as they are. What will happen, will happen _ . She let the lid drop shut.  _ Now where did I put that page? _

Frowning, she began to search the stacks of books and papers for the leather folder. Elayne was already out of her mind.


	25. The Price of the Ring

CHAPTER 22: The Price of the Ring

Elayne had only gone a short distance from Verin’s rooms when Sheriam met her. The Mistress of Novices wore a preoccupied frown.

“If someone hadn’t remembered Verin speaking to you, I might not have found you.” The Aes Sedai sounded mildly irritated. “Come along, child. You are holding everything up! What are those papers?”

Elayne clutched them a little tighter. She tried to make her voice both meek and respectful. “Verin Sedai thinks I should study them, Aes Sedai.” What would she do if Sheriam asked to see them? What excuse could she give for refusing, what explanation for pages telling all about thirteen women of the Black Ajah and the  _ ter’angreal _ they had stolen?

But Sheriam seemed to have dismissed the papers from her mind as soon as she asked. “Never mind that. You are wanted, and everyone is waiting.” She took Elayne’s arm and forced her to walk faster.

“What do you mean, Sheriam Sedai?”

Sheriam shook her head with exasperation. “Did you forget that you are to be raised to the Accepted? When you come to my study tomorrow, you will be wearing the ring, though I doubt it will soothe you very much.”

Elayne tried to stop short, but the Aes Sedai hurried her on, taking a narrow set of stairs that curled down through the library walls. “Tonight? Already? But I am half-asleep, Aes Sedai, and dirty, and ... I thought I would have days yet. To prepare.”

“The hour waits on no woman,” Sheriam said. “The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills, when the Wheel wills. Besides, how would you prepare? You already know the things you must. More than your friend Nynaeve did.” She pushed Elayne through a tiny door at the foot of the stairs and hurried her across another hall to a ramp curving down and down.

“I listened to the lectures,” Elayne protested, “and I remember them, but ... can’t I have a night’s sleep first?” The winding ramp seemed to have no end.

“The Amyrlin Seat decided there was no point in waiting.” Sheriam gave Elayne a sidelong smile. “Her exact words were, ‘Once you decide to gut a fish, there’s no use waiting till it rots.’ The Amyrlin means for you to go through the arches tonight. Not that I can see the point of such a hurry,” she added, half to herself, “but when the Amyrlin commands, we obey.”

Elayne let herself be pulled down the ramp in silence, a knot forming in her belly. Nynaeve had been far from forthcoming about what had happened when she was raised to the Accepted. She would not speak of it at all, except for a grimaced ‘I hate Aes Sedai!’

The ramp finally ended at a broad hallway, far below the Tower in the rock of the island. The hall was plain and undecorated, the pale rock through which it had been hewn smoothed but left otherwise untouched, and there was only one set of dark wooden doors, as tall and wide as fortress gates and as plain, although of smoothly finished and finely fitted planks, at the very end. Those great doors were so well balanced, though, that Sheriam easily pushed one open, and pulled Elayne through after her, into a great, domed chamber.

“Not before time!” Elaida snapped. She stood to one side in her red-fringed shawl, beside a table on which sat three large silver chalices.

“Be easy, Elaida,” Sheriam said calmly.

Lamps on tall stands illumined the chamber, and what sat centred under the dome. Three rounded, silver arches, just tall enough to walk under, sitting on a thick silver ring with their ends touching where they joined it. An Aes Sedai sat cross-legged on the bare rock before each of the spots where arches joined ring, all three wearing their shawls. She recognises all three, though she did not know them well.

Alanna Benico was the sister of the Green Ajah; a pale-haired and pinch-mouthed Tar Valoni with a quiet way about her.

The Yellow sister, Yuna Brasca, was also a native of Tar Valon, and had a similarly solemn demeanour to Alanna, but had seemed nice on the brief occasions Elayne had interacted with her. She was pretty and slender, but it was her mismatched eyes—one green and one blue—that everyone seemed to notice first.

It was the sister representing the White Ajah that drew Elayne’s attention now though. She had met Raelie Renshar before and each meeting had proven a test of her ability to dance between social niceties and truth. Raelie was a very distant relative of hers; so distant, in fact, that Elayne had not heard her name spoken before she came to the White Tower. She didn’t doubt the woman’s claim though. She would not have used the Renshar name openly if it was not hers by right, and the resemblance between them was quite noticeable. Raelie’s long, curly hair was a darker shade of red than her own, and her skin was heavily freckled, but they could easily have been mistaken for sisters. With Raelie the senior sister. Elayne doubted the woman’s interest in her was simply a desire to connect with her long lost kin. She smelled political ambition on her, and so tried to keep her distance.  _ Why did she have to be here? I don’t want her witnessing ... whatever happens here. _

Surrounded by the glow of  _ saidar _ embraced, the three Aes Sedai stared fixedly at the arches, and within the silver structure an answering glow flickered and grew. That structure was a  _ ter’angreal _ , and whatever it had been made for in the Age of Legends, now Novices passed through it to become Accepted. Inside it, Elayne would have to face her fears. Three times. The white light within the arches no longer flickered; it stayed within them as if confined, but it filled the space, made it opaque.

Sheriam stopped near the  _ ter’angreal _ and faced Elayne. “Novices are given three chances at this. You may refuse twice to enter, but at the third refusal, you are sent away from the Tower forever. That is how it is done usually, and you certainly have the right to refuse, but I do not think the Amyrlin Seat will be pleased with you if you do.”

“I won’t refuse.” Elayne said, her voice quavering embarrassingly.

“Good,” Sheriam said. “Good. Now I will tell you two things no woman hears until she stands where you do. Once you begin, you must go on to the end. Refuse at any point, and you will be put out of the Tower just as if you had refused to begin for the third time. Second. To seek, to strive, is to know danger.” She sounded as if she had said this many times. There was a light of sympathy in her eyes, but her face was almost as stern as Elaida’s. The sympathy frightened Elayne more than the sternness. “Some women have entered, and never come out. When the  _ ter’angreal _ was allowed to grow quiet, they—were—not—there. And they were never seen again. If you will survive, you must be steadfast. Falter, fail, and ...” Sheriam’s face drove the unspoken words home; Elayne shivered. “This is your last chance. Refuse now, and it counts only as the first. You may still try twice more. If you accept now, there is no turning back. It is no shame to refuse. I could not do it, my first time. Choose.”

_ They never came out? _ Elayne swallowed hard.  _ I want to be Aes Sedai. And first I have to become Accepted _ . “I accept.”

Sheriam nodded. “Then ready yourself.”

Elayne blinked, then remembered. She had to enter unclothed. She bent to set down the tied bundle of papers Verin had given her—and hesitated. If she left them there, Sheriam or Elaida either one could go through them while she was inside the  _ ter’angreal _ . They could find that smaller  _ ter’angreal _ in her pouch. If she refused to go on, she could hide them away, perhaps leave them with Nynaeve. Her breath caught.  _ I cannot refuse now. I’ve already begun _ .

“Have you already chosen to refuse, child?” Sheriam asked, frowning. “Knowing what that will mean, now?”

“No, Aes Sedai,” Elayne said quickly. She stripped hastily, shedding her white dress, stockings and even her underwear. It seemed a silly thing compared to the danger the  _ ter’angreal _ posed, but she still had to fight the urge to cover her nakedness with her hands.  _ I’ve been naked in front of others before, and Min said I was beautiful _ , she reminded herself, as goosebumps rose on her skin. Thankfully, none of the women in the room seemed interested in ogling her. They were all intent on their tasks. Once she was completely naked, Elayne set her bundled clothes on top of her pouch and the incriminating papers. It was a thin shield, but it was all she had.

Beside the  _ ter’angreal _ , Yuna suddenly spoke. “There is some sort of—resonance.” She never took her eyes from the arches. “An echo, almost. I do not know from where.”

“Is there a problem?” Sheriam asked sharply. She sounded surprised, too. “I will not send a woman in there if there is any problem.”

Elayne looked yearningly at her piled clothes.  _ A problem would be most welcome just now _ . At least one that lasted long enough for her to hide those papers without refusing to enter.

“No,” Yuna said. “It is like having a biteme buzz around your head when you’re trying to think, but it does not interfere. I would not have mentioned it, only it has never happened before that I ever heard.” She shook her head. “It is gone now.”

“Perhaps,” Elaida said dryly, “others thought such a small thing was not worth mentioning.”

“I’m not even sure what she’s talking about,” Raelie put in.

“Let us go on.” Sheriam’s tone would not put up with any more distractions. “Come.”

With a last glance at her clothes and the hidden papers, Elayne padded after her toward the arches. The stone felt like ice under her bare feet.

“Whom do you bring with you, Sister?” Elaida intoned.

Continuing her measured pace, Sheriam replied, “One who comes as a candidate for Acceptance, Sister.” The three Aes Sedai around the  _ ter’angreal _ did not move.

“Is she ready?”

“She is ready to leave behind what she was, and, passing through her fears, gain Acceptance.”

“Does she know her fears?”

“She has never faced them, but now is willing.”

“Then let her face what she fears.” Even in its formality, there was a note of satisfaction in Elaida’s voice.

“The first time,” Sheriam said, “is for what was. The way back will come but once. Be steadfast.”

Elayne took a deep breath and stepped forward, through the arch and into the glow. Light swallowed her whole.

Elayne kept pace with the Queen’s Guards as they marched down the marbled halls of the palace. The click of her shoes and the swish of her skirts were completely drowned out by their heavier footsteps and the clank of their armour. None of the hard-faced men spoke, which she well understood. These were grim times.

For an instant her head spun.  _ The way back will come but once. Be steadfast _ .

It was not her own thought, but a disembodied voice that could have been inside her head or out, male or female, yet emotionless and unknowable. Somehow, it did not seem strange to her.

The moment of wonder passed and she tossed her curly head irritably. This was no time to allow herself to be distracted by fancies. The fate of Andor would be decided in the coming battle, and Elayne was determined to do everything in her power to ensure her land survived this accursed invasion.

The Seanchan had swept through Arad Doman and Amadicia and part of Andor. Though they had bled heavily for every yard of Andoran soil they polluted with their touch, they had still managed to push her mother’s armies all the way back here, to the walls of Caemlyn itself.  _ They will not have Caemlyn _ , she told herself fiercely,  _ not while I live _ .

Gareth Bryne had perished in the fighting and Gawyn had taken up his role as First Prince of the Sword. Her brother awaited her in the courtyard, the sunlight shining off his burnished plate and catching in his red-gold hair, making him seem fiercer than she had ever imagined him looking. It gave her hope. If they could only hold the walls long enough for their allies to march to their aid ...

A groom brought out her Lioness and held the bridle while Elayne mounted, her uniformed escort dispersing to seek their own mounts.

“Are you ready, sister?” Gawyn asked.

_ Can anyone ever be ready for a day such as this? _ she thought. “Of course,” she said. “Forward the White Lion!”

Gawyn put heels to his horse and led the way through the open gates of the palace. They galloped through the nearly empty streets of the Inner City, the sound of hooves on paving stones almost enough to drown out the voice in her head.  _ The way back will come but once _ .

The Queen had ordered the people to evacuate Caemlyn, but not everyone had obeyed. Some had stayed because they lacked anywhere else to go, or the means to get there. Others had stayed to defend their homeland from the Seanchan. All had been armed by the smiths her mother had set to working around the clock since news of the Return first reached her ears. Many of those were among the soldiers she saw standing atop the tall white walls of Caemlyn, staring out at the surrounding army.

Elayne pulled on Lioness’ reins and slowed to a canter as she drew near the switchback stairs which would take her up those walls. There were not many Aes Sedai such as she among Caemlyn’s defenders, and none of the other sisters could match her strength, not here, or in the White Tower itself. Not since ... She shook her head as she mounted the stairs.  _ No distractions. My focus must be as sharp as a razor’s edge. Andor needs me _ . The Great Serpent ring on her finger hardly weighed a thing but suddenly it felt like a lead weight, trying to drag her down. She made a fist and climbed the stairs determinedly.

The size of the army she beheld when she reached the top might have been enough to daunt many, but her fellow Andorans faced it proudly. She spared only a moment to look at the dark-armoured Seanchan and their Exotics, preferring to focus her attention on the brave soldiers standing sentry over besieged Caemlyn. Short and tall, fair and dark, young and old. They were all magnificent to her eyes. When their eyes met hers they nodded in recognition, some tugging at their forelocks. She thought she saw welcome in their gazes and even dared hope her presence would give them heart. It both humbled and honoured her.

“It will be the Far Madding gate that sees the most action,” said Gawyn grimly, when he joined her at the parapet. “The bulk of the invaders’  _ damane _ are on that side.”

“Then that is where I will be,” Elayne announced.

Gawyn leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Elayne, we can’t afford to lose you. I can’t afford to lose you.”

He was a sweet man, her brother, but he could be such a fool sometimes. “Gawyn. I could shatter this wall with a wave of my hand. And some of those  _ damane _ out there could—and will!—do the same if no-one counters their attack. Andor cannot afford for me to sit out this fight, and even if it could I would still be here. Besides, even should I fall in the fighting it would be infinitely preferably to being captured alive by these people. If one can call them that.”

“Movement, my Prince!” Tallanvor called.

Elayne followed his pointing finger towards the Seanchan legion advancing towards Caemlyn’s walls. The soldiers were spread out loosely, their shields held high in front of them, and behind those soldiers came the  _ sul’dam _ , each one leading a woman in a grey dress.  _ Damane _ they called them—Leashed Ones—and to the Seanchan they were no longer women at all; less even than slaves, they were merely animals; tools to be used; things.

Setting her jaw angrily, Elayne embraced  _ saidar _ and let the One Power fill her with its Light.

“Archers! Prepare to fire on my command!” shouted Gawyn.

All around her there was an unlimbering of bows, a drawing of arrows, but Elayne had eyes only for the leashed women being led towards her city’s walls. They themselves were innocent of their captor’s crimes. Indeed, they were perhaps the greatest victims of said crimes. Yet she would have to kill them here today if Andor was to survive. She would do it, she knew, but she hated the necessity.  _ The Seanchan will pay for their deaths, too, as surely as they will for all the Andoran blood they have spilled _ , she told herself.

Her resolve wavered when the  _ damane _ drew close enough for her to see their faces.

She stared down at Nynaeve and Moiraine in shock. They were dishevelled and crest-fallen, and someone had cut Nynaeve’s braid from her head, leaving her hair as short as Anna’s, but there was no mistaking them. “I thought they died with Galad at Jeramel,” she whispered.

“They are almost in range. Are you ready, sister?” Gawyn asked again.

She turned to him, wide eyed. Beyond him, at the door to a nearby tower, she saw a silver arch standing, an arch filled with white light.  _ The way back will come but once. Be steadfast _ . She gaped, vaguely aware that Gawyn was speaking, but unable to hear his words. She had to lock her knees against a sudden, mad impulse to walk towards that arch.

“I will do it!” she yelled. Gawyn and the nearby guardsmen shot her surprised glances but Elayne refused to waste time being embarrassed by her outburst.  _ I will do it. Even them. For Andor. Light forgive me _ .

She turned her attention back to the invading army and gathered threads of Power around her, weaving them into something deadly. Her aunt might have seen the attack coming, but the  _ sul’dam _ controlling her was not as observant. When the ground beneath them exploded in flames both Moiraine and the  _ sul’dam _ were consumed instantly.

_ The way back will come but once. Be steadfast _ , something said. Elayne doubted there was any going back, not from this. But it had to be done. She looked towards Nynaeve, heartsick but determined. The former Wisdom was stronger than her in the Power, and the grey-haired  _ sul’dam _ controlling her was pointing Elayne’s way.

_ Be steadfast _ .

“Be silent,” she hissed.

“Sister?”

Elayne shot him an irritated glance, and then saw it again. The silver arch. She had taken a step towards it before she realised what she was doing. The silver arch beckoned her. Something waited on the other side. Something she had to do.

_ Be steadfast _ .

She  _ was _ steadfast! She was loyal to Andor and always would be.

Yet the arch called to her, telling her it was important that she leave.

_ Steadfast _ .

Elayne stepped towards the glowing archway. It was hard, harder than anything she had ever done in her life. The sounds of battle rose up behind her but her gaze remained fixed on that beckoning light. There was something wet upon her cheeks.

“Elayne! Where are you going!? We need you,” Gawyn called.

She stopped at the edge of the archway and looked back, trying to think of some way to explain. But when she opened her mouth the only sound that came out was a wail of grief as she watched the  _ damane _ ’s flames wash over her brother. Gawyn danced a mad jig in the fire, trying futilely to put it out, fighting on with his last breath, as the rest of her brave Andormen would.

Elayne turned her back on them. She stepped into the light, and was consumed.

Trembling and sobbing, Elayne stepped out of the arch, the same by which she had entered, memory cascading back with Sheriam’s face confronting her. Cold clear water washed away her tears as Elaida slowly emptied a silver chalice over her head. Her weeping went on; she did not think it would ever end.

“You are washed clean,” Elaida pronounced, “of what sin you may have done, and of those done against you. You are washed clean of what crime you may have committed, and of those committed against you. You come to us washed clean and pure, in heart and soul.”

Elayne barely felt the cold water trickling down her body. “Nothing can excuse what I did,” she choked.

“There is a price to become Aes Sedai,” Sheriam replied, but the sympathy was back in her eyes, stronger than before. “There is always a price.”

“Was it real? Did I dream it?”

Sheriam put an arm around her shoulders, began guiding her around the circle of arches. “Every woman I have ever watched come out of there has asked that question. The answer is, no-one knows. It has been speculated that perhaps some of those who do not come back chose to stay because they found a happier place, and lived out their lives there.” Her voice hardened. “If it is real, and they stayed from choice, then I hope the lives they live are far from happy. I have no sympathy for any who run from their responsibilities.” The edge on her tone softened slightly. “Myself, I believe it is not real. But the danger is. Remember that.” She stopped in front of the next glow-filled arch. “Are you ready?”

Shifting her feet, Elayne nodded, and Sheriam took her arm away.

“The second time is for what is. The way back will come but once. Be steadfast.”

Elayne shivered, and not due to the water or her nudity.  _ Whatever is in there, it cannot be worse than what I have already seen. It cannot be _ . She stepped into the glow.

She picked her way carefully over the rubble, heedless of the fresh rips the jagged edges made in her skirts. The enemy was still here somewhere.  _ Saidar _ filled her and she tried to watch in every direction as she crept through the ruins of the Hall of the Tower.

_ The way back will come but once. Be steadfast _ .

Elayne’s eyes paused briefly on the blackened smear where the Amyrlin Seat had once been. The Black Ajah weren’t content with simply killing them. They wanted to erase their history, too.

The hall was half buried under what had stood above it. Elaida lay with a heavy beam pinning her across the waist, her legs hidden beneath the stone blocks that filled half the room. Dust and sweat coated her face. She opened her eyes when Elayne came near her.

“Elayne, come here.” She forced the words out in a hoarse rasp. “You have to help me.”

She sank wearily to the floor. “I could lift that beam easily with Air, but as soon as it moves, everything else will come down on top of you. On top of both of us. I cannot manage all of it, Elaida.”

“That’s not good enough, girl. The Tower demands the best and you, least of all, can afford to be less than that.”

Elayne bowed her head to the rebuke, smothering her resentment and weighing the truth of the Aes Sedai’s words. She still had room to improve, that much was undeniable.

“What can I do for you? I cannot Heal.” That still saddened her. She’d wanted to be a Healer, but you were either born with that Talent or you were not, and she had not been.

Elaida was a hard woman and she did not flinch to say, “You must kill me.”

Elayne had always wanted to be Aes Sedai but she had never aspired to be like Elaida, and so felt no shame at clapping a hand across her own mouth and gasping, “What? I can’t do that. Why would you ask such a thing?”

“They can Turn me, child. If they take me—the Myrddraal—the Black Ajah—they can Turn me to the Shadow. Force me to serve them. If there is even a spark of life left when they find me, they can still do it. You must do it, Elayne. For the Tower. Kill me.”

_ The way back will come but once. Be steadfast _ .

“I see,” Elayne sighed. So many had died already in this war, and many more would join them before it was done. “Are you sure this is the only way?”

“Yes. Do it, girl,” Elaida demanded.

Elayne stood over the trapped Aes Sedai. “I’m sorry,” she said as she spun Air and Water and Fire together. She looked away, as much to shield her heart as her eyes, as the lightning lanced out from her hand. Elaida was dead in an instant.

She left the Hall behind, hurrying now. The Black Ajah would have felt that surge of Power. They would be coming for her.

Voices from the corridor to her right. Liandrin’s voice was among them, raised, the better to speak over the others, some of which were sadly familiar. Elayne darted down the corridor to her left. The voices grew fainter as she ran on slippered feet through the falling Tower.

Elayne came to a sudden halt at the sound of booted footsteps coming up one of the ramps. Quickly, she hid herself in a doorway and readied  _ saidar _ . She hadn’t long to wait before the owner of the boots appeared, but instead of striking them down she gave a huge sigh of relief.

“Min. Thank the Light you’re safe.”

The girl in boys’ clothes jumped at the sound of her voice and raised a hand to her own throat. She wore the clinging, sequinned outfit she’d worn during their time in the circus. Something about that seemed odd to Elayne but she dismissed the unwelcome feeling.

“It’s just you,” Min sighed. “Burn me, princess, you nearly scared me to death. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Despite everything, Elayne found herself smiling. “Well you’ve found me. But there’s no time to celebrate. We need to get out of here. The Black Ajah is too strong. The White Tower is theirs now.”

Min nodded eagerly. She didn’t share Elayne’s regard for the Tower. Elayne had the feeling that the only reason Min was even still in the city was her love for her. “Lead the way,” Min said. “I’ll be right behind you.”

_ The way back will come but once. Be steadfast _ .

Frowning, Elayne looked over her shoulder into the room whose doorway she’d hidden in. It was an unremarkable classroom, save for one truly remarkable feature. A silver arch filled with white light took up most of the open space between the desks.

She turned and stepped toward the arch. It was right there in front of her. One more step, and ...

“Elayne? Where are we going? The exit’s down the other way.”

“I have to go,” she whispered.

_ Be steadfast _ .

“I know. But there’s nothing here but tables. And I think I hear them coming closer,” Min fretted. “Is that Juilaine?”

“Where I have to go, you can’t follow, Min,” she said. Her throat felt so tight it hurt.

“I don’t understand. Elayne, please ...”

Elayne stepped forward, and the Light burned her to ash.

Staggering, she stepped out of the arch, neither noticing her nakedness nor caring. A shudder ran through her, and she covered her mouth with both hands. “Min,” she whispered. “Please forgive me.”

Cold water poured over her head.

“You are washed clean of false pride,” Elaida intoned. “You are washed clean of false ambition. You come to us washed clean, in heart and soul.”

As the Red sister turned away, Sheriam gently took Elayne’s shoulders and guided her toward the last arch. “One more, child. One more, and it is done.”

“She said they could turn her to the Shadow,” Elayne mumbled. “She said the Myrddraal and the Dreadlords could force her.”

Sheriam missed a step, and looked around quickly. Elaida was almost back to the table. The Aes Sedai surrounding the  _ ter’angreal _ stared at it, seeming lost to anything else. “An unpleasant thing to talk of, child,” Sheriam said finally, and softly. “Come. One more.”

“Can they?” Elayne insisted.

“Custom,” Sheriam said, “is not to speak of what happens within the  _ ter’angreal _ . A woman’s fears are her own.”

“Can they?”

Sheriam sighed, glanced at the other Aes Sedai again, then dropped her voice to a whisper and spoke swiftly. “This is something known only to a few, child, even in the Tower. You should not learn it now, if ever, but I will tell you. There is—a weakness in being able to channel. That we learn to open ourselves to the True Source means that we can be—opened to other things.” Elayne shuddered. “Calm yourself, child. It is not so easily done. It is a thing not done, so far as I know— Light send it has not been done!—since the Trolloc Wars. It took thirteen Dreadlords—Darkfriends who could channel—weaving the flows through thirteen Myrddraal. You see? Not easily done. There are no Dreadlords today. This is a secret of the Tower, child. If others knew, we could never convince them they were safe. Only one who can channel can be Turned in this way. The weakness of our strength. Everyone else is as safe as a fortress; only their own deeds and will can turn them to the Shadow.”

“Thirteen,” Elayne said in a tiny voice. “The same number who left the Tower. Liandrin, and twelve more.”

Sheriam’s face hardened. “That is nothing for you to dwell on. You will forget it.”

“I didn’t want to do it. She threatened to Still me if I didn’t stop being wilful, but I didn’t want to hurt her,” Elayne whispered, not wanting Elaida to overhear.

“You mistook her,” Sheriam said, keeping her own voice low. “If being wilful were a Stilling offense, the list of the Stilled would have more names on it than you could learn. Few meek women ever achieve the ring and the shawl. That is not to say, of course, that you must not learn to act meekly when it is required.”

“Yes, Sheriam Sedai,” Elayne sighed, and Sheriam smiled.

“You see? You can give the appearance of meekness, at least. And you will have plenty of opportunity to practice before you earn your way back into the Amyrlin’s good graces. And mine. Mine will be harder to achieve.” Her voice climbed to a normal volume. “The third time is for what will be. The way back will come but once. Be steadfast.”

Elayne stared at the glowing arch, stared at some far distance beyond it. Liandrin and twelve others. Thirteen Darkfriends who can channel.  _ Light help us all _ . She stepped into the light. It filled her. It shone through her. It burned her to the bone, seared her to the soul. She flashed incandescent in the light.  _ Light help me! _ There was nothing but the light. And the pain.

Everywhere she looked there was death and destruction. Elayne ran like a rabbit before a wolf, stumbling over dead Trollocs and dead Borderlanders; eternal foes, in death their bodies had been melted together, merging the warriors of the Light and the Shadow into a macabre mockery of the peace the people of Shienar had once prayed for.

_ The way back will come but once. Be steadfast. Thirteen _ .

There wasn’t much left now. They’d tried to help him. And when that failed some had tried to reason with him. Others had tried to kill him. It hadn’t made any difference in their fates.

_ The way back will come bu ... _ The voice in her head trailed away to finish in a buzz.  _ Thirteen Darkfriends _ .

“Elayne! My love, where are you?” He called. His voice, that had once placed butterflies in her stomach, now forced a sob from her lips. “Where are you, my wife? Where is everyone hiding?”

_ The way back will come but on— _ This time it ended abruptly.  _ Thirteen of the Black Ajah _ .

When she looked back, she saw him in the distance. He strolled unseeing through the destruction, the man in the heart of the inferno, the Dragon Reborn. He’d told her once that channelling Fire was as easy for him as breathing, and she saw the truth of that then. With each rise and fall of his broad chest the flames expanded and contracted, searing all around him to ash.  _ Callandor _ glowed red in his hand, casting a lurid light across the battlefield. It made the staring eyes of the fallen shine crimson. Her heart pounded with terror and grief.

_ The way back will come but— The way back will—The way— _

How many had he killed already? How many more before ... before ...  _ No, I can’t _ . She put on speed but no matter how hard she ran he kept getting closer.  _ Rand. Why did it have to end like this? _

Rand’s laughter chased her. “Elayne, my love! Come to me, my wife. You must see this.”

When she looked back again, a whimper escaped her lips. Somehow he was right behind her, still walking unhurriedly, staring at the wet red stains on his hand as though at something delightful. Miraculously, his fiery aura did not touch her, though all around her the corpses burst into flames.

Elayne fell to her knees among the dead. It was hopeless. Perhaps it always had been. She’d known the Prophecies, she’d known them before she ever took him to her bed, but somehow she’d never truly believed. Somehow they’d prove the Prophecies wrong, she’d thought. They’d find a way to defeat the Shadow without paying the terrible price that was demanded. She’d been a fool, a naive, lovesick fool.

She still was. “Elayne. There you are,” he said, sounding so pleased that her heart skipped a beat. When she glanced tearfully up at him, she found him smiling. Blood caked his still-handsome face, but there was such warmth and kindness in his smile that she had to try again.

“Rand, please. Listen to me. The madness has you. You have to fight it, Rand. Come back to me,” she pleaded.

He dropped  _ Callandor _ carelessly to the torn earth, though its glow did not cease when it left his hand. She wondered, for an instant, whose blood had stained it so, before her mind shied away from the question. There were too many answers that would shatter what little of her heart remained intact. Rand knelt before her and gently touched her cheek. The warmth of his skin made her shiver; the warmth of the blood he smeared on her face made her want to throw up.

“I’ve missed you,” he breathed, and suddenly his lips were on hers.

She tried to push him off but he was so much stronger than her, and she was so tired. Somehow her fingers got tangled in his hair and his tongue slipped into her open mouth. Tears streaked through the blood on her cheeks.

He tore at her dress. How many times had he done that? How many times had she thrilled to see his hunger for her, and gone to great lengths to encourage it?

“Not like this,” she gasped, but he didn’t hear her. He tore her bodice and freed her breasts, leaving them vulnerable to his hungry hands. Her moan mixed grief and arousal. “Rand, stop.”

He didn’t stop. He picked her up and carried her to the nearest corpse pile, laying her down upon it as though it were a palace bed. The bodies felt warm beneath her bare back but when she tried to pull away from their sickening touch, he pushed her down and captured her lips once more.

Suddenly his hand was between her legs. The silk of her fine smallclothes could not delay him long; a single flex of his strong arm ripped the thin fabric apart and bared her sex. Before she could even yelp out her objections he was probing her with his bloodied fingers.

Rand stirred her pleasure with sure familiarity, immediately seeking out her most vulnerable places. His lips on hers grew more ardent, and he shifted his weight so that his hips were between her spread legs.  _ I have to stop this. I have to stop him before he destroys everything _ .

Yet when he freed his magnificent shaft and aimed it at her most private place, Elayne only stared down. She watched them become one, filling her mind with memories of happier times even as Rand filled her body with his, completing her. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to think of the gruesome bed on which her poor husband claimed her for what she somehow knew would be the last time.

He made love to her then. Among the horror and the madness, covered in blood, stinking of death, somehow it still felt like making love. His hands caressed her breasts, her legs, her bottom. His lips caressed hers, and somehow she was kissing him back, even as she wept. She didn’t make her legs rise up, nor cross them at the ankles, but somehow that was how she ended up lying as he pumped in and out of her, stirring her rebellious body towards a pleasure that repelled her. A pleasure she craved.

_ The way back will come but once. Be steadfast _ .

It had been so long since she last heard those words that she gave a start. Rand didn’t notice, and why would he? She’d been thrashing in his arms for so long.

Elayne’s eyes snapped open and she saw it. Tilted to sit flat against the broken earth was a silver arch filled with a glowing light. The arch flickered and wavered; streaks of angry red and yellow darted through the white light.

_ The way back will come but once. Be steadfast _ .

The archway thinned to transparency, grew solid again.

Panic shot through Elayne, driving the fog of lust from her mind. She reached towards the arch but Rand’s weight held her down. He was breathing heavy now and his thrusts were coming fast.

“I can’t—I need—” She didn’t know what she needed, only that it was something she wouldn’t find here.

She could not push him off, so Elayne moved her hips, matching her rhythm to Rand’s, fucking him desperately, faster and faster. The pleasure threatened to overwhelm her senses but she focused on the flickering archway.

Rand embraced her in his arms, crushing her to his chest in a way that had never hurt before. “Elayne, I love you,” he groaned as his seed burst forth to fill her womb with heat. She sobbed as he came within her, fresh tears leaking from her eyes.

Sated, his body grew lax in that familiar way. It was easy to roll them over, bringing them both to the ground with her on top. She freed her body from his and clambered to her feet, her torn, red dress hanging off her hips in threads.

When she stepped towards the arch, her foot brushed against  _ Callandor _ , The Sword That Was Not A Sword. Despite the name that had been given to that glowing blade, it could function perfectly well as a sword. Rand had proven that. He lay quiet now, catching his breath, eyes closed and a soft smile on his lips. She could end the threat he posed. Or perhaps, somehow, she could still save him.

Voices bored into her head, not the disembodied, unknowable voice that warned her to be steadfast, but women’s voices she almost believed she knew.

_ —can’t hold much longer. If she does not come out now— _

_ Hold! Hold, burn you, or I’ll gut you all like sturgeons! _

_ —going wild, Mother! We can’t— _

The voices faded to a drone, the drone to silence, but the unknowable spoke again.

_ The way back will come but once. Be steadfast. There is a price to be Aes Sedai. _

_ The Black Ajah waits _ .

“I can’t do it, Rand,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.” He gave no sign that he had even heard her.

Grief-stricken, Elayne staggered towards the archway, which now shimmered like a heat haze. Uncaring of the danger, she stepped through.

Light plucked her apart fibre by fibre, sliced the fibres to hairs, split the hairs to wisps of nothing. All drifted apart on the light. Forever.


	26. Sealed

CHAPTER 23: Sealed

Elayne stepped out of the silver arch, her face stricken, haunted by the memories of what she’d done.  _ Is this truly what it takes to be Aes Sedai? Must I betray and abandon everything and everyone I love? _

Naked, sweaty and flushed, she had taken several staggering steps before she realised they had been joined in the chamber by a dozen other women. Instinctually, she pressed her knees together and covered her nakedness with her hands, only then noticing how stiff her nipples had gotten. She felt a blush flare across her face and tried to tell herself that she was just imagining the knowing looks on the Aes Sedai’s ageless faces.

Suddenly she realized that all was not as it should be. The Amyrlin was there now, as Elayne had been taught she would be, and a shawled sister from each Ajah, but they all stared at her worriedly. Two Aes Sedai now sat at each place around the  _ ter’angreal _ , sweat running down their faces. The  _ ter’angreal _ hummed, almost vibrated, and violent streaks of colour tore the white light inside the arches.

The glow of  _ saidar _ briefly enveloped Sheriam as she put a hand on Elayne’s head, sending a new chill through her. “She is well.” The Mistress of Novices sounded relieved. “She is unharmed.” As if she had not expected it.

Tension seemed to go out of the other Aes Sedai facing Elayne. Elaida let out a long breath, then hurried away for the last chalice. Only the Aes Sedai around the  _ ter’angreal _ did not relax. The hum had lessened, and the light began the flickering that signalled the  _ ter’angreal _ was settling toward quiescence, but those Aes Sedai looked as if they were fighting it every inch of the way.

“What happened?” Elayne asked.

“Be silent,” Sheriam said, but gently. “For now, be silent. You are well—that is the main thing —and we must complete the ceremony.” Elaida came, close to running, and handed the final silver chalice to the Amyrlin.

Elayne hesitated only a moment before kneeling.  _ What happened? _

The Amyrlin emptied the chalice slowly over Elayne’s head. “You are washed clean of Elayne Trakand from Caemlyn. You are washed clean of all ties that bind you to the world. You come to us washed clean, in heart and soul. You are Elayne Trakand, Accepted of the White Tower.” The last drop splashed onto Elayne’s hair. “You are sealed to us, now.”

The Amyrlin thrust the chalice at one of the other Aes Sedai and produced a gold ring in the shape of a serpent biting its own tail. Despite herself, Elayne trembled as she raised her left hand, trembled again as the Amyrlin slipped the Great Serpent ring onto the third finger. When she became Aes Sedai, she could wear the ring on the finger she chose, or not at all if it was necessary to hide who she was, but the Accepted wore it there.

Unsmiling, the Amyrlin pulled her to her feet. “Welcome, Daughter,” she said, kissing her cheek. The Amyrlin kissed her other cheek. “Welcome.”

Stepping back, the Amyrlin regarded her critically, but spoke to Sheriam. “Get her dry and into some clothes, then be certain she is well. Certain, you understand.”

“I am certain, Mother.” Sheriam sounded surprised. “You saw me Delve her.”

The Amyrlin grunted, and her eyes shifted to the  _ ter’angreal _ . “I mean to know what went wrong tonight.” She strode away in the direction of her glare, skirts swaying purposefully. Most of the other Aes Sedai joined her around the  _ ter’angreal _ , now only a silver structure of arches on a ring.

The Aes Sedai already arrayed around it looked tired. Yuna helped the other Yellow sister, Desandre, to her feet, while Raelie and the lushly beautiful Myrelle remained seated, dabbing at the sweat on their faces with lace handkerchiefs. Alanna was already standing with her fingers steepled across her waist; Fringilla whispered something in her ear while both women watched Elayne sharply.

Elayne felt nervous. Even more so than before attempting the test. Something had happened while she was inside that  _ ter’angreal _ , and whatever it was had been enough to give the Amyrlin Seat pause.

“The Mother is worried about you,” Sheriam said as she drew Elayne to one side, to where there was a thick towel for her hair, and another for the rest of her.

“How much reason did she have?” Elayne asked. She rubbed herself vigorously with the towel and pretended not to notice the way the Red Ajah’s representative, Galina, smirked as she watched. At least the Brown sister, Juilaine, had the decency to pretend she wasn’t sneaking a peek.

Sheriam did not answer Elayne’s question. She merely frowned slightly, then waited until Elayne was dry before handing her a white dress banded at the bottom with seven rings.

She slipped hastily into that dress, and felt a flash of disappointment. She was one of the Accepted, with the ring on her finger and the bands on her dress. When she had imagined this moment, it had always come with a feeling of triumph, yet no such sensation graced her now.

Elaida came over, her arms filled with Elayne’s Novice dress and shoes, her belt and pouch. And the papers Verin had given her. In Elaida’s hands.

Elayne made herself wait for the Aes Sedai to hand the bundle to her rather than snatch them away. “Thank you, Elaida Sedai.” She tried to eye the papers surreptitiously; she could not tell if they had been disturbed. The string was still tied. Squeezing her pouch under cover of the Novice dress, she felt the peculiar ring, the  _ ter’angreal _ , inside.  _ At least that’s still here _ .

Elaida’s face was as hard as her voice, but that came as no surprise to Elayne. “You have vast potential, else you would never have survived in there tonight, but potential unrealised is nothing. Remember that.” She turned on her heel and stalked over to join the others at the  _ ter’angreal _ .

Elayne studied Sheriam carefully. She had had as much opportunity as Elaida to read the list of names, to decide that Elayne was meddling with the Black Ajah.  _ Light, you’re becoming suspicious of everybody.  _ Her mother had always told her suspicion was like wine; a little was good, but too much would make a fool of you. _ Better a fool than dead, or captured by thirteen of them and ...  _ Hastily, she stopped that line of thought; she did not want it in her head. “Sheriam, what happened tonight?” she asked. “I deserve to know.”

Sheriam’s eyebrows rose almost to her scalp, it seemed, and she hastily amended her question. “Sheriam Sedai, I should have said. My apologies.”

“Remember you aren’t Aes Sedai yet, child.” Despite the steel in her voice, a smile touched Sheriam’s lips, yet it vanished as she went on. “I do not know what happened. Except that I very much fear you almost died.”

“I agree,” Yuna said in her soft voice. The Yellow sister approached with her head bowed apologetically. “The fault is mine. I should have stopped this when I first noticed that—reverberation. It came back. That is what happened. It came back a thousandfold. The  _ ter’angreal _ almost seemed to be trying to shut off the flow from  _ saidar _ —or melt itself through the floor. You have my apologies, though words are not enough. I will ask the Mother to let me share your time in the kitchens. And your visit to Sheriam, too. Had I done as I should, you would not have been in danger of your life, and I will atone for it.”

Sheriam’s laugh was scandalized. “She will never allow that, Yuna. A sister in the kitchens, much less ... It is unheard of. It’s impossible! You did what you believed right. There is no fault to you.”

“It was not your fault, Yuna Sedai,” Elayne said.  _ Why is Yuna doing this? Perhaps to convince me she didn’t have anything to do with whatever went wrong. Or so she can keep a close eye on me _ . It was that image, a proud Aes Sedai up to her elbows in greasy pots three times a day just to watch someone, that convinced her she was letting her imagination run away with her. She probably just felt her honour had been impugned or something. It was the kind of thing a Shienaran would do. Except Yuna was Tar Valoni and they modelled themselves after the Aes Sedai, who were not noted for an excess of humility or shame ... In any case, the Yellow sister certainly had had no chance to see the list of names while tending the  _ ter’angreal _ .  _ But if Nynaeve is right, she wouldn’t need to see those names to want to kill me if she is Black Ajah. Stop that! _ “Really, it wasn’t.”

Raelie had been there, too, and Alanna with her cold, weighing eyes. Either of them seemed a more likely saboteur than Yuna, in Elayne’s estimation.

“Had I done as I should,” Yuna maintained, bowing so low that Elayne could not see her face, only a head of brown hair, “it would never have happened. The only time I have ever seen anything like it was once years ago when we tried to use a  _ ter’angreal _ in the same room with another that may have been in some way related to it. It is extremely rare to find two such as that. The pair of them melted, and every sister within a hundred paces had such a headache for a week that she couldn’t channel a spark.”

“What’s the matter, child?” said Sheriam.

Elayne’s hand had tightened around her pouch till the twisted stone ring Verin had given her impressed itself on her palm through the thick cloth. Was it warm? “Nothing. Yuna Sedai, I do not feel that you did anything wrong but if you insist it is otherwise, know that you have my forgiveness. There is no need for you to share my punishments.”

Sheriam nodded. “Quite true.” Yuna only shook her head.

The Amyrlin joined them, and they swept deep curtsies to her. “Are you well, Daughter?” she asked Elayne. Her eyes flicked to the corner of the papers sticking out from under the Novice dress in Elayne’s hands, then back to Elayne’s face immediately. “I will know the why of what occurred tonight before I am done.”

“I am well, Mother,” Elayne answered.

Yuna surprised her by asking the Amyrlin just what she had said she would.

“I never heard of such a thing,” the Amyrlin barked. “The owner doesn’t muck out with the bilge boys even if she has run the boat on a mud-flat.” She glanced at Elayne, and worry tightened her eyes. And anger. “I share your concern, Yuna. Whatever this child has done, it did not deserve that. Very well. If it will assuage your feelings, you may visit Sheriam. But it is to be strictly between you two. I’ll not have Aes Sedai held up to ridicule, even inside the Tower.”

“And the other, Mother?” said Yuna diffidently.

“Do not be ridiculous, Daughter.” The Amyrlin was angry, and sounded more so by the word. “You’d be a laughingstock inside the day, except for those who decided you were mad. And don’t think it would not follow you. Tales like that have a way of travelling. You would find stories told of the scullion Aes Sedai from Tear to Muselhelm. And that would reflect on every sister. No. If you need to rid yourself of some feeling of guilt and cannot handle it as a grown woman would, very well. I have told you that you may visit Sheriam. Accompany her tonight when you leave here. That will give you the rest of the night to decide if it was of any help. And tomorrow you can start finding out what went wrong here tonight!”

“Yes, Mother.” Yuna said, with another bow. Alviarin, the White sister who had come with the Amyrlin, gave Yuna a cool look on her way to the exit.

It could have been an accident, what had happened with the  _ ter’angreal _ . Or someone might have just tried to kill her. If the former, then it was of small account—accidents happened, and she had survived. But if the latter ...

Wrapped in thought, Elayne heard a throat cleared, then again, more roughly. Her eyes focused. The Amyrlin was staring right into her, and when she spoke, she bit off each word.

“Since you seem to be asleep standing up, child, I suggest you go to bed.” For one instant her glance flashed to the nearly concealed papers in Elayne’s hands. “You have much work to do tomorrow, and for many days thereafter.” Her eyes held Elayne’s a moment longer, and then she was striding away before any of them could curtsy.

Sheriam rounded on Yuna as soon as the Amyrlin was out of earshot. “You are mad, Yuna! A fool, and doubly a fool if you think I will go lightly on you. Are you taken by the Dragon, to—?” Suddenly Sheriam became aware of Elayne, and the target of her anger shifted. “Did I not hear the Amyrlin Seat order you to your bed, Accepted? If you breathe a word of this, you will wish I had buried you in a field to manure the ground. And I will see you in my study tomorrow, when the bell rings Morn and not one breath later. Now, go!”

Elayne bore the woman’s rudeness with dignity. She’d borne quite a bit of such rudeness with dignity since coming to the White Tower. It grew wearisome, but she kept the impulse to snap at Sheriam firmly under control.  _ Mother would never have tolerated anyone speaking to her so, not in Andor at least _ . Sheriam ignored her polite nod, so Elayne departed in cool silence.

She left the Aes Sedai to their investigation and let herself out into the suddenly cavernous corridor. The thick doors, which had opened easily at her touch, fell shut again with only a slight thump. After the hubbub of the testing chamber, the corridor was eerily silent.

Elayne was halfway down the hall when a sudden voice made her jump.

“I would speak with you, Elayne Trakand.”

When she turned she found that the Blue sister, Dynahir, had followed her from the chamber. Elayne tried to order her heart to beat normally, but as ever it proved a stubborn organ.

_ Light! Compose yourself. You are supposed to be the Daughter-Heir of Andor, not some frightened kitten. And she would hardly try to kill you here, with the Amyrlin only a few dozen feet away. Would she? _

Elayne knew Dynahir only by reputation. She was a proud and full-figured Taraboner of dark complexion, who had escorted Min to the White Tower at Moiraine’s request. An ally of her aunt’s then, at least to some degree. Sadly, that did not necessarily mean she was an ally of Elayne’s.

“You left the White Tower some months ago, yes?” Dynahir said as she approached. Seeing Elayne’s sudden wariness, she raised a hand. “The Amyrlin, she has said this is a matter to be spoken of no more, and I will comply. My question is of a different kind. Another girl disappeared at the same time, a friend of yours I am told. Min Farshaw. Do you know where she is?”

“I do not. I haven’t seen her in some time,” Elayne said truthfully.

“And where was she when the last you saw her?”

Elayne had no intention of giving Min away. She’d have lied to the Aes Sedai if she had to, but an amusing idea occurred to her. The sisters often twisted truth—speaking no untrue word, yet misleading others into thinking they said something they did not. This would, in some ways, be a taste of their own medicine.

“She was here in Tar Valon when last I saw her, Dynahir Sedai,” Elayne said solemnly.  _ I abandoned her here _ . “I don’t know if she left the city at all. If she did I did not see it.”

The Blue sister raised one dark brow. “It is so? A pity. Me, I went to some trouble to bring her here. I had not thought for her to leave so soon afterwards.”

Elayne shrugged apologetically. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“Well if you hear anything of her, Accepted, be sure to let me know, yes?”

Elayne dipped a curtsy in response. Dynahir lingered long enough to give her a searching look before returning to the testing chamber.

Alone again, Elayne made her way through the halls and stairways of the White Tower. Her head felt like it was spinning.  _ Is there any sister I can trust? The Amyrlin? She sent Nynaeve to chase thirteen of the Black Ajah and forgot to mention that thirteen is just the number needed to turn a woman who can channel to the Shadow against her will. Who can I trust? _

Her cell-like room in the Novice’s quarters was a welcome sight for once. She closed the door and leaned back against the smooth planks. Verin’s papers she stuffed into her pouch along with the  _ ter’angreal _ ring. Her old Novice dress she tossed on the bed. This would be her last night in that bed. Tomorrow she would be assigned a larger room among the Accepted. The other Accepted, that was.

With no Aes Sedai to be suspicious of, Elayne’s thoughts were free to wander back to the things she had seen and done during her testing. And the things she had failed to do. She found herself trembling uncontrollably and suddenly she did not want to be alone, could not stand the thought of it, so she hurried to the Accepted’s quarters, and immediately after knocking pushed open Nynaeve’s door. She could trust her with anything.

But Nynaeve was not alone. Theodrin was there, standing before the lit fireplace with Pedra, of all people. Shimoku and Mair sat in the chairs and for all the disparity in their appearances, shock made the two Accepted look like sisters. All five women heaved a sigh of relief when they realised it was just Elayne at the door.

Nynaeve had half-risen from her seat on the edge of the bed when Elayne barged in, now she sank back down. “I’m fairly sure you weren’t born in a barn, Elayne Trakand, so where are your manners?” she said testily.

Elayne felt herself flush. “I didn’t realise you had company.” Nonetheless, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

“I was just explaining our mission to Shimoku and Mair.”

“She knows about it already then?” said Theodrin. Her dark eyes flickered to the bands of colour at the cuff and hem of Elayne’s new dress. “But she was only recently raised.” Those eyes came back to Elayne’s, but only for a brief moment before Theodrin’s face softened and she looked away. “Very recently.”

Elayne bit her lip and hunched her shoulders as though under a blow. All the other women in the room avoided looking at her then, and frowned at something only they could see.

All save Nynaeve. The former Wisdom spread her arms. “Come here,” she said. It was not a gentle invitation, nor a hard demand, just an offer of shared strength.

Elayne did not realise she had moved. Somehow she was on her knees beside the bed and Nynaeve was hugging her. Her eyes burned and tears began streaming down her cheeks.

“I could not be that awful, Nynaeve. I just couldn’t!”

Nynaeve rocked her as though she were a baby. “Hush,” she crooned softly. “It eases with time. It eases, a little. One day we will make them pay our price. Hush. Hush.”

Elayne’s head sank down to Nynaeve’s lap. She clutched at the older woman’s skirt as she wept, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Nynaeve never tried to make her stop, just kept smoothing her hair and whispering a kind of comforting nonsense that reminded Elayne of her old nurse. Her weeping went on for a long time.


	27. Decoy

CHAPTER 24: Decoy

Playing “Rose of the Morning” softly on his flute, Rand peered into his campfire, where a rabbit was roasting on a stick slanting over the flames. A night wind made the flames flicker; he barely noticed the smell of the rabbit, though a vagrant thought did come that he needed to find more salt soon.

They’d made good time through the first part of their journey from Cullen’s Crossing, but since drawing near to Braem Woods they had been forced to slow down. Villages had needed to be visited and questions had needed to be asked in order to narrow down the area they must search for the Portal Stone. He could hardly have just wandered around Braem Woods hoping to stumble over a relic of an ancient Age,  _ ta’veren _ or not. The inhabitants of the first few villages they’d visited hadn’t a clue what Rand was talking about when he asked them about strange stone columns in the nearby woods. They’d been so dismissive of his questions that Rand had begun to fear that Lanfear had lied to him and that he’d walked into her trap. But Lanfear never appeared and eventually their questions began to inspire vague tales of carved pillars in the woods, half-remembered from this man’s uncle or that man’s long-dead friend.

The hooting of an owl almost made him jump. He well recalled the owl that had perched on Lanfear’s shoulder the last time she had visited him in his dreams. Her teasing had gotten more aggressive lately. She had come to him last night, cool and mysterious and so lovely his mouth went dry just thinking of her, offering him glory as she had—so long ago, it seemed—but now it was the sword she said he had to take. And with the sword would come Lanfear.  _ Callandor _ . That was always in his dreams. Always. And taunting faces. Hands, pushing Nynaeve and Elayne and other, faceless women into cages, snaring them in nets, hurting them. Why should he weep more for Elayne than for the rest?

Sweat beaded on his face, but he played on, barely loud enough to be heard, staring into the fire. He could not seem to stop playing that one tune. It made him think of Egwene. He had thought once that he would marry Egwene. That was gone, now. She had appeared in his dreams, too, burning bright and brief. It might have been her.  _ Her face. It was just her face _ .

There had been so many faces, faces he knew. Tam, and his mother; Mat, and Perrin; others. All trying to kill him. It had not really been them, of course. Only their faces, on Shadowspawn. He thought it had not really been them. Even in his dreams it seemed the Shadowspawn walked. Were they only dreams? Some dreams were real, he knew. And others were only dreams, nightmares, or hopes. Min had walked his dreams one night—and tried to plant a knife in his back. He was still surprised at how much that had pained him. He had been careless, let her come close, let down his guard. Around Min, he had not felt any need to be on his guard in so long, despite the things she saw when she looked at him. Being with her had been like having balm soothed into his wounds.

_ And then she tried to kill me! _ The music rose to a discordant screech, but he pulled it back to softness. Izana, who had been leaning back against his saddle on the other side of the fire, sat up, his hand on the hilt of his sword, and shot Rand a questioning look. Rand just shook his head and played on.  _ Not her. Shadowspawn with her face. Least of them all would Min hurt me _ . He could not understand why he thought that, but he was sure it was true.

The woods near here had been heavily logged, but a day’s ride since Rikimaru drew the tale of what sounded like a certain sighting out of a village mayor had taken them beyond the loggers’ current reach. The trees pressed close around them now, old things with thick trunks and reaching branches. Even the war-trained Shienaran horses slept poorly in this place, and occasionally stamped nervously, as if to remind whatever might be out there that they were no easy meat.

Rikimaru and Inukai were still out in the dark, searching for the promised Portal Stone. Or at least, Rand hoped they were. It was not unheard of for them to only return from their scouting well after the sun had set, but he could not help but imagine other possible reasons for their absence.

His sword lay on the ground close by, with the hilt pointed towards him and, for all that he’d complained of the discomfort when he first began to wear it, he found himself missing his armour. The need to move swiftly had necessitated they shift a lot of their gear, especially the heavier and less crucial stuff, to the packhorses before they parted company with Perrin and the others.

Rand lowered the flute. He hoped this worked. If it didn’t then Perrin and Anna, Min and Saeri and the rest could be in great danger. Perrin wouldn’t hesitate to brave the Ways, not with Emond’s Field in danger, and the others would likely go with him. Unless Moiraine stepped in to stop it. Rand wasn’t sure which outcome he should be hoping for in that case.

“You should get some sleep, my Lord Dragon,” Izana said, once Rand had stopped playing.

“I’m not sleepy just yet, Izana. I’ll take first watch, and wake you when it’s your turn.”

Izana fidgeted. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Go to sleep,” said Rand. If he didn’t take the first watch he suspected Izana would try to take the entire night’s duty upon himself again. And besides, he needed to be exhausted enough to sleep deeply before he trusted himself to set head to pillow.

The Shienaran laid out his blankets and made himself comfortable. He was soon asleep, leaving Rand alone with his troubled thoughts.

_ What will I say to Tam if he asks about the Shienarans, or gets a look at the Dragon banner? Light, what can I possibly say to Marin about what happened to Egwene? I was supposed to protect her _ . Worse even than the imagined pain of those confrontations was the possibility that neither Tam nor Marin would be there to bless him out for what he’d done, or failed to do.  _ Light send they are both alright, and that the Whitecloaks haven’t gotten to them _ .

He was still awake when the familiar sounds of horse and rider drifted through the night. Hand resting on the hilt of his sword, Rand sought the void before whistling the challenge. He only relaxed when the answering whistle came.

It was lantern jawed Inukai who stepped into the dim light of the fire, leading his horse. Despite the late hour, the greying soldier was alert and straight-backed.

“Any luck?” Rand asked.

Inukai saluted before squatting by the fire to warm his hands. “I think I’ve found what you’re looking for, my Lord Dragon. There’s another one of those pillars half a day’s ride north of here.”

“Excellent.  _ Tai’shar _ Shienar,” said Rand. Half a day. That would leave plenty of time to do what he needed to do, provided he didn’t lose time in the Portal Stone again.

“Honour to serve. Rikimaru isn’t back yet?”

“No. Hopefully he’ll show up soon.”  _ For more reasons than one _ . “Get some sleep, Inukai, you’ve done well.”

Rand knew he needed to get some sleep of his own so he went and shook Izana gently by the shoulder. The moon-faced youth blinked up at him owlishly and then his cheeks flushed red, no doubt having realised how late the hour had gotten.

“It’s your watch,” Rand said, before seeking his blankets. He was out almost as soon as his head touched the bundled cloak than served as a pillow.

He had two reasons to be thankful when he awoke the next morning. One was that he’d slept a dreamless sleep. The other was that Rikimaru had arrived back safely sometime during the night. While Izana prepared breakfast, Rand wrestled with the soft-hearted part of him that wanted to delay their departure long enough for the hard-working scouts to get a proper sleep. He won that internal struggle by telling himself that they could rest as long as they liked once they passed through the Portal Stone.

Neither of the men complained when they were rousted from their sheets, not by word or expression. As soon as man and horse were fed and watered they were off again, riding through the forest along the trail Inukai blazed.

The Portal Stone, when they finally reached it, was half buried beneath clinging ivy. If it wasn’t as tall as it was—twelve feet of carved grey stone—you might have ridden past it and not noticed. Rand was thankful for Inukai’s sharp eyes.

He dismounted quickly and drew his sword. It would have been faster to clear the ivy with  _ saidin _ but that would risk activating the Stone prematurely. With that fear in mind, Rand was reluctant to let himself touch the thing with his flesh, and so limited himself to hacking at it with the blade. So, once again, it fell to others to do the work that Rand should have. The three Shienarans tore down most of the blockage while Rand poked feebly at a few shoots, revealing the now familiar carved sigils on the Stone’s face.

There were hundreds of odd signs carved all along the pillar. Rand had no idea as to their meaning but he knew what they represented. Worlds that were like and yet unlike this one. And the Portal Stones that existed both there and here. You could move from one Stone to another if you channelled through them, providing you knew what the sign was for the world and—or—Stone you wanted to go to. He looked up, towards the top of the pillar, where a lone sigil was carved, bigger than those arrayed below. That was the sign for this particular Stone. It looked like a crescent moon rising above a pair of hills, but given all the other odd lines and squiggles that comprised the Portal Stone sigils, Rand doubted that that was what it was supposed to represent. He committed it to memory, just in case.

He took his time looking through the other sigils, barely conscious of his silent audience. Mistakes made with these things had proven costly in the past and he was determined to avoid one this time. The sign for their world, the real world, he located quickly. It was a triangle standing on its point inside a circle. The other sign he sought proved harder to spot, not leastly because he wasn’t sure of his recollection. He hadn’t been trying to memorise it at the time; he’d only glanced at it. He thought it was that cross within the circle but what if he was wrong? It could have been the x three rows above. Or the circle with all those lightning bolts running through it.

“Burn this,” Rand muttered, after wasting an inordinate amount of time dithering. He’d just have to risk it. He was supposed to be  _ ta’veren _ wasn’t he? Luck and fate were on his side. Other than that whole bit about being prophesised to be killed by the Dark One anyway. He snorted softly. The cross in the circle felt most right to him.

“Gather close. And bring the horses,” he said abruptly.

They did as he bid them, but none of the three looked particularly pleased to do it. He couldn’t blame them. They’d all experienced what he had experienced when a trip like this went wrong, and no-one in their right mind would want to go through that again.

Taking a deep breath, Rand sought the void and, once achieving it, seized  _ saidin _ . He fixed the two sigils he’d picked out in his mind and then reached out to them with invisible ropes of Power woven from all five elements. He fed the One Power to the Stone and felt it activate.

There was a rush of air, a sound like something heavy thumping to a carpet, and between one heartbeat and the next, they were somewhere else.

Rand shivered, releasing a tension he hadn’t realised he’d held. No flickering. No voice. He was still himself, instead of watching though another him’s eyes, thinking their thoughts and feeling their feelings. A glance upwards showed the cross in a circle carved at this Portal Stone’s highest point. He spun around and saw a lush grassland centred on a huge beech tree.

He blew out his breath, and grinned. “It worked! We’re here. Stedding Tsofu.”

Smiles and congratulations came from the Shienarans but Rand had already moved on to another worry. There was still a little time before nightfall and it might be best if he got the Ogier’s permission for what he wanted to do next. Then again, it might also be best to try and get it done before they even noticed he was here. That way they couldn’t say no. He recalled the Eldest of the Elders here, Alar. She’d been a stern woman. Very sure of herself, and reluctant to let them use the Waygate even when Verin requested it. He doubted she would let a mere man, and a young one even by human standards, do what she’d been leery of an Aes Sedai doing.

_ No. Better to ask forgiveness than permission in this case _ , he decided.

“To the Waygate,” he said.

Accepting the reins that Izana offered, Rand mounted Blackwing and led the way. He’d chosen this site because it was the only place he knew of where a Portal Stone and a Waygate were in such close proximity, less than an hour’s ride away from each other, at the outskirts of the  _ stedding _ . They were far away from the Waygate that Loial was taking Perrin to, but that didn’t really matter. Not with the Ways. Distances didn’t behave the way they should in that strange place.

“Will we be visiting the  _ stedding _ again, my Lord Dragon?” Izana said with a smile. He sounded well pleased with the prospect.

Rand had to disappoint him. “Not if I can help it. I’d prefer it if the Ogier don’t even know we’re here.”

“Pity. They’re lovely places, the  _ stedding _ . If you don’t mind my saying so.”

“I’m not much for formality, Izana,” said Rand with a touch of exasperation. “I’m a shepherd, as I’ve repeatedly said. You can say whatever you please.”

The Shienaran looked uncomfortable, as Shienarans almost always did when you put forth the appalling idea of not being formal about something. Rand smiled wryly to himself and gave Blackwing a touch of the heel, setting him to a brisk canter.

They reached their destination soon enough and found it blessedly empty of other living souls, human or Ogier. The Waygate of Stedding Tsofu stood in a small clearing surrounded by a low stone coping, carved with brambles and nettles to give a forbidding appearance. Other than the barely foot high wall there was no other defence in sight. The Ogier trusted to the common sense of others when it came to keeping clear of the Ways. Rand frowned at the tiny wall. He wondered if all the  _ stedding _ s’ Waygates were this poorly guarded. With the Shadow making free use of the Ways now, it was a troubling thought.

He dismounted once more, and handed his reins to Izana. “Stay clear,” he said, trying to make his voice sound commanding, the way Lan would. “You won’t be able to help with whatever happens next. And interfering could be disastrous.” He waited for all of them to acknowledge of his order, however reluctantly, before turning away and stepping over the coping.

The big slab of the Waygate was delicately worked in tightly woven vines and leaves from a hundred different plants. Hidden within the leaves of those plants was a very special leaf, different from the others. It took him a moment to spot it. Carved of stone like the rest of the gateway, it was so lifelike that he always expected his touch to tear it. When he reached out, he had to consciously make his grip tighter in order to pluck it away from the slab. The trefoil leaf of  _ Avendesora _ came free in Rand’s hand, and the Waygate split down the middle, each half of the heavy stone door drifting open as though moved by invisible hands.

_ Saidin _ was already in him. He stood ready for what he was sure he would have to do. He stood ready as the gates opened to reveal a dull grey sheen, almost like a mirror that had become fogged. Grey, not black. The last time he had opened a Waygate it had been black, and  _ Machin Shin _ had been waiting for him on the other side.

Far from being relieved at the absence of that soul eating and unknowable ... thing, Rand despaired. He’d been sure it was following him. He’d been banking on it. That was the reason he had come all this way, to draw  _ Machin Shin _ to him and leave a safe path for Perrin and the others to make their way to Manetheren’s old Waygate. He hadn’t intended to fight it, just distract it.

Rand paced restlessly before the open Waygate. It had seemed to follow him before. It had been there when he opened the Waygate in Cairhien and again here, though he had no idea how it could have known where he would be, not while it was in the Ways and he was here in the real world. He’d thought it able to sense him somehow but could it have been simply a coincidence? Or perhaps it was a question of time.  _ Machin Shin _ did not move instantly and distance was relative in the Ways. If it had been ... wherever the equivalent of Braem Woods was in that place, and was now following him to wherever the equivalent of Stedding Tsofu was, then it might just take a while for it to arrive.

He glanced back at the three armsmen, who sat on the coping, waiting for him to do what he’d come here to do. “Izana, could you keep an eye out for any Ogier? Try to distract them if they come too close. The rest of you should get some rest, this might take a while.” He turned his attention back to the Waygate and schooled himself to patience.

The sun had set by the time he began to hear the voices. They were whispers at first, soft familiar whispers, promising delightful pain. Rikimaru and Inukai sat wrapped in their cloaks, leaning against each other’s backs, dozing but ready to come alert if needed. Neither man seemed to hear the voices, and Rand began to fear they were only in his head. Was that what madness was like? He couldn’t afford to go mad yet—there was so much he needed to do.

_ Flay the skin, peel off what remains. Juicy strips. _

_ Flags are people, people are flags; hang them high. _

_ Breath in the fire and cook the lungs. The sweetest kiss. _

_ Al’Thor _ .

Rand shivered in perverse relief. That last whisper, spoken in a dozen voices at once, was a horribly familiar one. It really was following him, just as he’d thought; and it was here.  _ Machin Shin _ , the Black Wind. As dangerous as that was, it was still preferable to those voices being inside his head.

Even at night, the grey entrance to the Ways gave off a slight glow, enough to make it seem the night was clear and the moon full, though in truth the stars were hidden by the clouds overhead. Rand ran his thumb along the intricately carved stone leaf in his hands, picturing the spot it belonged on in his mind. He’d need to do this quickly.

The voices grew louder and Inukai came awake with a snort of alarm just before the light went out in the clearing. Grey became black and they were plunged into darkness, a darkness that hungered, a darkness that called to Rand as though to an old friend.

_ Al’Thor. Kill you all. Kill us all. Kill them all. Al’Thor _ .

Rand darted forward and slammed the  _ Avendesora _ leaf back into place on the Waygate’s stone door. Slowly, too slowly for Rand’s taste, the doors drifted together again and sealed the monster of the Ways on the other side, silencing the obscenities it was still screaming.

He heard relieved sighs from the men behind him but Rand could not relax yet. There was another part of his plan, and that was as uncertain, and possibly as dangerous, as the Stones and the Ways.

Izana came running down the path that led to Stedding Tsofu. “What happened?” he called.

“We’re fine. It was just the Black Wind. It’s following me, just as I hoped. We’d better make camp, we may be here for a few days,” said Rand. Days or hours, he could not guess. They’d wait for however long it took Perrin to get to his destination.

He helped set up the camp. When they’d started this journey, the Shienarans had objected to that but Rand had overridden them. He’d gotten into the habit of shirking chores when surrounded by his armsmen and maids, but he wasn’t about to do the same when it was just the four of them.

While the Shienarans were still chewing on their travel rations and deciding who would take the watch, Rand settled down and tried to make himself sleep. It proved difficult, sleeping when you wanted to. Usually he just worked until sleep came naturally. The unnatural dreams, too, came when they willed. Now he needed to force both things to happen, and he didn’t know how. He lay there for a frustratingly long time before he finally dozed off.

He dreamt of death. He watched himself kill his father and his friends, and no matter how he struggled he could not stop his arms from moving and the red blade of his sword from striking again and again. When he awoke he was back in the Theren, in the Waterwood, lounging on soft grass beside one of its many pools. He’d always loved it in the Waterwood.

Rand would have liked to have relaxed there for the rest of the day. Or the rest of his life even. But an insistent voice at the back of his head kept telling him he had a job to do. He sat up, tossing his head irritably and wondering what the problem was. Between one blink and the next, he became aware that he was still sleeping. The dream did not shift with his awareness; sure sign that it was no natural dream.  _ Good _ , he thought, recalling his mission.

He’d met Perrin in this place once before, by accident. He’d attacked him, too, for which he’d apologised profusely when they discussed this plan at the last meeting of the Inner Circle. It was his hope that he’d be able to meet with Perrin again, this time to pass on a message. Exactly how he would find Perrin was another matter.

“Perrin Aybara. From Emond’s Field. Blacksmith’s apprentice. Wolfbrother.” Rand spoke the words insistently, picturing his old friend in his mind and hoping to appear near him somehow. Nothing happened. Sighing, he turned west and set off for Emond’s Field. Maybe Perrin would be there.

There was a dizzying rush of colours, and suddenly the Waterwood was gone and he was standing on the Green in the middle of the village, gaping around at the familiar houses.  _ How in the Light ...?  _ Emond’s Field, or this dream version of it, was empty. He told himself that that didn’t really mean anything—he hadn’t met many real people here in the dreamworld, just Perrin, Ba’alzamon and Lanfear—but that didn’t make it any less frightening to see Emond’s Field as a ghost town. He had the disturbing feeling that people were watching him from the empty windows, a feeling which reminded him all too acutely of Shadar Logoth. Moiraine had said Fain and Mordeth had somehow merged. And he’d vowed to make Rand’s people suffer if Rand didn’t face him. What if this was really what the village was like now? Fain or the Whitecloaks could have killed everyone.

He stepped out of the village into the Westwood. And it was just that: a step. One step, another rush of colours, and he was standing in the middle of the forest. He wasn’t alone. A wolf was fighting a man whose face kept changing. Rand wasted only a moment staring before he rushed towards them. Somehow he thought the wolf was Perrin but before he could close the distance both wolf and man disappeared as though they had never been.

_ Burn me, but this place is weird. Where in the Light is Perrin? _

Suddenly he heard a familiar voice, one that sounded as confused and frustrated as Rand felt.

“Hopper! Hopper, where are you?”

Try as he might, Rand couldn’t tell what direction the voice was coming from.

“Hopper!”

He took a step and the world blurred around him, only to reform a heartbeat later. He was on a grassy moor, not far from the edge of a cliff. The Mountains of Mist stretched off into the distance beyond. Perrin was there too. He turned slowly, looking in every direction. He even looked up in the sky where clouds promised rain.

“Hopper, where are you?” he called. “I need you! Hopper!”

Rand opened his mouth to call a greeting, only to gape as a grizzled wolf appeared, alighting on the moor as if it had leaped from somewhere higher.

“I need to know, Hopper,” said Perrin. You said there were things I must see. I need to see more, know more.” He hesitated before continuing. “The strange things I see here. Are they real?”

Perrin was quiet for a moment, as though listening to a response, and perhaps he was. Rand, of course, heard nothing.

“I do not understand! The Last Hunt? What Last Hunt? Hopper, Grey Men came to kill me,” Perrin continued. “Yes! Grey Men! After me! And a Darkhound was right outside the inn! I want to know why they’re after me.”

That seemed pretty obvious to Rand. “You’re  _ ta’veren _ ,” he said, and man and wolf turned suddenly at his intrusion. “The Pattern has marked you as someone with an important part to play, Perrin. If the Shadow wants to remake, or destroy, the Pattern, naturally they are going to want to get rid of you. Of all three of us.”

“But why? What do they think I’m going to do? I’m not the bloody Dragon Reborn!” Perrin growled.

Rand shrugged. “I barely know what  _ I’m _ supposed to do, and there are a bunch of prophecies that supposedly explain that. How am I supposed to figure out what the Pattern wants from you?”

“I know,” Perrin sighed. “I just ... Ah, never mind.” His golden eyes studied Rand carefully. “Did you come here deliberately, or were you drawn into it again.”

Rand smiled. “Deliberately this time. It worked, Perrin.  _ Machin Shin _ is lurking on the other side of the Waygate near Stedding Tsofu. So long as we both stay there, you should be able to reach the Theren safely.”

“It’s about time,” Perrin said, though there was no rebuke in his tone. “We’ve been camped near Shaemal’s old Waygate for about two days now. I keep thinking of my family. Every moment that goes by without me there is a moment that they are in danger.”

Perrin looked around him, as though searching for something. “I need to go. The sooner we leave the better. How do I wake up?”

“That’s another thing I can’t tell you,” Rand sighed.

Suddenly the wolf, Hopper, leapt towards Perrin. Its forepaws hit him square in the chest, knocking him back, over the edge. Rand saw his friend’s golden eyes go wide with shock.

“Perrin!” he shouted, and instinctually jumped forwards to try and catch him. He didn’t even get close. He scrambled on hands and knees to the cliff’s edge and reached it just in time to see Perrin plummet towards the ground below. He was going to hit. He knew it. But he was wrong. Perrin disappeared an instant before crashing to the earth.

_ Is he dead? _ Rand thought frantically.  _ Or did he wake up? _

He turned and glared at the grizzled wolf. Its tongue lolled out of its mouth and Rand almost thought it was laughing at him. He bared his teeth angrily but before he could say or do anything the beast disappeared. It didn’t hide in the undergrowth, or run past his field of view; it simply wasn’t there anymore.

“He better not be hurt, mutt,” Rand growled at the empty air. “Or I’ll find you. Somehow.”

He sat back on his heels. The question that Perrin had just posed came back to him, though his answer remained the same.  _ Now how do I wake up? _


	28. Into the Ways

CHAPTER 25: Into the Ways

Perrin stood staring at the Waygate as he waited with what he was sure was poorly concealed impatience for the others to finish their breakfast. Loial had told him that there was once a great city here, the capital of Coremanda, but no trace of that city remained now, just hilly grassland climbing steadily upwards until they became the mountain range called The Hills of Kintara. The Waygate stood alone on one of those rises. Loial had grieved at the sight of it, but Perrin knew it had been more for the loss of the grove that had once been here than the lost city.

Motion drew his eye. He watched Zarine pacing up and down nearby. Usually she bantered with him, maybe poked a little gentle fun at his deliberate ways; this morning she had not said ten words. He could smell the rose petals that had been folded into her clothes after cleaning, and the scent that was just her. And in the hint of clean perspiration, he smelled nervousness. Her narrow, divided skirts made a soft whisk-whisk-whisk with her strides.

He scratched his week’s growth of beard irritably. It was even curlier than the hair on his head. It was also hot. For the hundredth time he thought of shaving.

“It suits you,” Zarine said suddenly, stopping in her tracks.

Uncomfortably, he shrugged shoulders heavy from long hours working at a forge. She did that sometimes, seemed to know what he was thinking. “It itches,” he muttered, and wished he had spoken more forcefully. It was his beard; he could shave it off any time he wanted.

She studied him, her head tilted to one side. Her bold nose and high cheekbones made it seem a fierce study, a contrast to the soft voice in which she said, “It looks right on you.”

Perrin sighed, and shrugged again. She had not asked him to keep the beard, and she would not. Yet he knew he was going to put off shaving again. He wondered how his friend Mat would handle this situation. Probably with a pinch and a kiss and some remark that made her laugh until he brought her around to his way of thinking. But Perrin knew he did not have Mat’s way with the girls. Mat would never find himself sweating behind a beard just because a woman thought he should have hair on his face. Unless, maybe, the woman was Zarine. Perrin suspected that her father must deeply regret her leaving home, and not just because she was his daughter. He was the biggest fur trader in Saldaea, so she claimed, and Perrin could see her getting the price she wanted every time.

“I have been talking to Bain and Chiad, Perrin.”

That was no surprise. She spent considerable time with the Aiel women and she seemed to like them. She got along somewhat less well with Anna and Min, and the lack of regard seemed mutual. The two maids she dismissed out of hand.

“What about?” he asked.

“What do you think? The Ways of course, you great lummox,” she said sharply. “Even the Aiel are convinced we are going to die in there. I don’t think I should let you go.”

Perrin might have explained the plan to her if she didn’t insist on throwing her weight around like that, or of reminding him of that promise she had tricked out of Loial. “You’re right,” he said, and her eyes widened in surprise. They soon narrowed again when he added, “the Ways are dangerous. Maybe you should go back to Tunaighan. It seemed a nice place. Safe. Lots of wine. We’ll go on without you.”

“I would love to go, but unfortunately I can’t see a lost puppy wandering the streets and not want to see it taken care of. It’s a failing of mine,” she declared grandly, before turning on her heel and stalking away, stiff backed.

Perrin sighed. He hated to argue. It was too easy to hurt people when you spoke in haste. He’d done a lot of hurting in the past year, with both words and actions. It was his fondest wish that they had come to an end of that. All he wanted was to be a blacksmith, to go home, and see his family again, and work at the smithy. But it was not to be; he knew that.

Scratching his beard, Perrin breathed heavily, close to a growl. “If she tries to stop us going home, I vow she’ll not sit down for a week.”

“She is very handy with those knives,” Gaul said in a neutral tone. Whether by accident or design, the Aiel man approached from upwind. He moved so quietly that Perrin embarrassed himself with a small jump at the sound of his voice. Gaul gave no sign that he had noticed.

“Not handy enough. Not if she’s given me away.” Perrin said. He hesitated. “Gaul, if anything happens to me, if I give you the word, take Zarine away. She might not want to go, but take her anyway. See her safely out of the Theren. Will you promise me that?”

“I will do what I can, Perrin. For the blood debt I owe you, I will.” Gaul sounded doubtful, but Perrin did not think Zarine’s knives would be enough to stop him. “Bain and Chiad seem to have adopted her.”

“Are they why you only said you would try?” Perrin asked quietly.

Gaul shrugged. “I will do what I can, but they will take her side. Chiad is Goshien.”

“Her clan makes a difference?”

“Her clan and mine have blood feud, Perrin, and I am no spear-sister to her. But perhaps the water oaths will hold her. I will not dance spears with her unless she offers.”

Perrin shook his head. A strange people. What were water oaths?

“I think the argument between you and Faile fascinates them,” Gaul continued. “They like her, and this conflict amuses them.”

Perrin set his jaw, less than pleased to be the punchline of someone’s joke, especially when it was one he didn’t get. “Well, as long as they keep her out of trouble.” He was surprised when Gaul threw back his head and laughed. It made him scratch his beard worriedly.

Loial came toward them, long eyebrows sagging anxiously. His coat pockets bulged, as was usual when he was travelling, mainly with the angular shapes of books. “Faile is becoming impatient, Perrin. I think she might insist on leaving any minute. Please hurry. You humans make me leap about so I can hardly find my own head. Please hurry.”

When Perrin looked back towards the site of their now-struck camp, he found Zarine standing beside her horse, Swallow. The others were getting ready to go as well.

“I will not leave him,” Zarine called. “Not even if he is yet too stubborn and foolish to ask a simple favour. Should that be the case, he may still follow me like a lost puppy. I promise to scratch his ears and take care of him.” The Aiel women doubled over laughing.

Gaul leaped straight up suddenly, kicking higher, two paces or more above the floor, while twirling one of his spears. “We will follow like stalking ridgecats,” he shouted, “like hunting wolves.” He landed easily, lightly. Loial stared at him in amazement.

Bain, on the other hand, lazily combed her short, fiery hair with her fingers. “I have a fine wolfskin with my bedding in the hold,” she told Chiad in a bored voice. “Wolves are easily taken.”

A growl rose in Perrin’s throat, pulling both women’s eyes to him. For a moment Bain looked on the point of saying something more, but she frowned at his yellow stare and held her peace, not afraid, but suddenly wary.

“This puppy is not well housebroken yet,” Zarine confided to the Aiel women.

Perrin refused to look at her. Instead he went to fetch his dun stallion. Stepper frisked in the quick steps that had made Perrin give him his name. Perrin soothed him with the sure confidence of a man who had shoed many horses. It was no trouble at all putting his high-cantled saddle on and lashing his saddlebags and blanket roll behind.

Gaul watched with no expression. He would not ride a horse unless he had to, and then not a step farther than absolutely necessary. None of the Aiel would. Perrin did not understand why. Pride, perhaps, in their ability to run for long distances. The Aiel made it seem more than that, but he suspected none of them could have explained.

As he worked, Perrin tried not to hunch his shoulders under the flat looks he got from so many of his long-time travelling companions. None of them had been pleased to learn they would be following Zarine through the Ways, and somehow that had become Perrin’s fault.

Moiraine’s knowing stare was particularly irritating. He had no doubt the Aes Sedai could have put an end to Zarine’s antics in short order, but instead she watched in cool silence. He almost felt she was punishing him for Rand’s decision to return home. Which didn’t seem very fair, in Perrin’s estimation. He hadn’t made the man do it.

The packhorses had been readied, too, of course, old Bela among them. There was food and waterskins. Oats and grain for the horses. A few other things, like hobbles, some horse medicines just in case, spare tinderbox and such. Most of the space in the wicker hampers went for leather bottles like those the Aiel used for water, only larger and filled with lamp oil. Once the lanterns, on long poles, were strapped atop the rest, it was done.

Thrusting his unstrung bow under the saddle girth, he swung up into Stepper’s saddle. And then had to wait, seething, while Zarine pulled on her gloves and fixed her hair with exaggerated care. Everyone else was already mounted by then. It was all another effort to put him in his place, whatever she thought that was.

A scowling Anna leaned over in her saddle to speak to Areku. Perrin couldn’t hear what they said but the hard-faced Shienaran woman nodded her agreement and her narrow, black eyes fixed on Zarine’s back. Perrin hoped he wouldn’t have to break up any fights, especially not ones involving the women. That would be especially difficult for him.

When Zarine finally mounted, in her narrow divided skirts, she reined closer to Perrin. She rode well, woman and horse moving as one. “Why can you not ask, Perrin?” she said softly. “You tried to keep me away from where I belong, so now you have to ask. Can such a simple thing be so difficult?”

“I shouldn’t have to,” he said stubbornly.

She sniffed, and then turned to Loial. “Are you ready to go on? Good. Lead me through the Ways, Loial. We have stayed here too long. If you let a stray puppy stay close to you, it begins to think you will take care of it, and that will never do.”

“Faile,” Loial protested, “are you not carrying this too far?”

“I will carry it as far as I must, Loial. The Waygate?”

Ears sagging, Loial puffed out a heavy breath and turned his horse upslope. Perrin let him and Faile get a dozen paces ahead before he and Gaul followed. He must play by her rules, but he would play them at least as well as she.

The Waygate appeared more a length of grey wall than a gate, and the wall of a palace at that, thickly carved in leaves and vines so finely done that they seemed almost alive. For thousands of years it had stood there, but not a trace of weathering marred its surface. Those leaves could have rippled with the next breeze.

For a moment they all stared at it silently, until Loial took a deep breath and put his hand on the one leaf that was different from any other on the Waygate. The trefoil leaf of  _ Avendesora _ , the fabled Tree of Life. Until the moment his huge hand touched it, it seemed as much a part of the carving as all the rest, but it came away easily.

Zarine gasped loudly, and even the Aiel murmured. He heard whispered prayers from many of the Shienarans. Min gave a put-upon sigh and muttered something uncomplimentary about Rand. The air was full of the smell of unease; there was no saying who it came from. All of them, perhaps.

The stone leaves of the gate seemed to stir from an unfelt breeze now; they took a tinge of green, of life. Slowly a split appeared down the middle, and the halves of the Waygate opened out, revealing not the hill behind, but a dull shimmering that faintly reflected their images.

“Once, it is said,” Loial murmured, “the Waygates shone like mirrors, and those who walked the Ways walked through the sun and the sky. Gone, now. Like this grove.”

Hastily pulling one of the filled pole-lanterns from a packhorse, Perrin got it alight. “It is too hot out here,” he said. “A little shade would be good.” He booted Stepper toward the Waygate. He thought he heard Zarine gasp again.

The dun stallion balked, approaching his own dim reflection, but Perrin heeled him onward. Slowly, he remembered. It should be done slowly. The horse’s nose touched its image hesitantly, then merged in as though walking into a mirror. Perrin moved closer to himself, touched ... Icy cold slid along his skin, enveloping him hair by hair; time stretched out.

The cold vanished like a pricked bubble, and he was in the midst of endless blackness, the light of his pole-lantern a crushed pool around him. Stepper whickered nervously.

Gaul stepped through calmly and began preparing another lantern. Behind him was what seemed like a sheet of smoked glass. The others were visible out there, Loial getting back on his horse, Zarine gathering her reins, Moiraine shaking her head, all of them creeping, barely moving. Time was different inside the Ways.

“Faile is upset with you,” Gaul said once he had his lantern alight. It did not add much illumination. The darkness drank in light, swallowed it. “She seems to think you have broken some sort of agreement. Bain and Chiad ... Do not let them get you alone. They mean to teach you a lesson, for Faile’s sake, and you will not sit on that animal so easily if they manage what they plan.”

“I agreed to nothing, Gaul. I do what she’s forced me to do through trickery. We will have to follow Loial as she wants soon enough, but I mean to take the lead for as long as I can.” He pointed to a thick white line under Stepper’s hooves. Broken and heavily pitted, it led off ahead, vanishing in the blackness only a few feet away. “That leads to the first guidepost. We will need to wait there for Loial to read it and decide which bridge to take, but Zarine can follow us that far.”

“Bridge,” Gaul murmured thoughtfully. “I know that word. There is water in here?”

“No. It isn’t exactly that kind of bridge. They look the same, sort of, but ... Maybe Loial can explain it.”

The Aielman scratched his head. “Do you know what you are doing, Perrin?”

“No,” Perrin admitted, “but there’s no reason for Zarine to know that.”

Gaul laughed. “It is fun to be so young, is it not, Perrin?”

Frowning, uncertain whether the man was laughing at him, Perrin heeled Stepper on. The lantern light would not be visible at all in here twenty or thirty paces from its edge. He wanted to be completely out of sight before Zarine came through. Let her think he had decided to go on without her. If she worried for a few minutes, until she found him at the guidepost, it was the least she deserved.

The pole-lantern bobbed as he stepped down from his saddle and led Stepper and the packhorse to the Guiding, a tall slab of white stone covered with cursive silver inlays vaguely reminiscent of vines and leaves, all pitted as if splashed with acid. He could not read it, of course —Loial had to do that; it was Ogier script—and after a moment he walked around it, studying the Island. It was the same as the others he had seen, with a chest-high wall of white stone, simple curves and rounds fitted in an intricate pattern. At intervals bridges pierced the wall, arching out into the darkness, and railless ramps running up or down with no means of support he could see. There were cracks everywhere, ragged pits and shallow craters, as though the stone were rotting. When the horses moved there was a grainy sound of stone flaking away beneath their hooves. Gaul peered into the dark with no visible nervousness, but then, he did not know what might be out there. Perrin did, too well.

When Loial and the others arrived, Zarine immediately hopped from her black mare and strode straight to Perrin, eyes intent on his face. He was already regretting making her worry, but she did not look worried at all. He could not have said what her expression was, besides fixed.

“Have you decided to talk to me instead of over my hea—?”

Her full-armed slap made spots dance in front of his eyes. “What did you mean,” she practically spat, “charging in here like a wild boar? You have no regard. None!”

He took a slow, deep breath. “Please don’t do that again,” he said quietly. Her dark, tilted eyes widened as if he had said something infuriating.

The Aiel were watching interestedly, and Loial with his ears drooping. Uno muttered something rude about Saldaean women while Anna swung down from her saddle, looking furious.

Perrin was rubbing his cheek when her second slap caught him on the other side, nearly unhinging his jaw.

“I told you not to do that,” he growled. Her fist was not very big, but her sudden punch to his shortribs drove most of the air from his lungs, hunching him over sideways, and she drew back her fist again. With a snarl, he seized her by the scruff of her neck and ...

Well, it was her own fault. It was. He had asked her not to hit him, told her. Her own fault. Anna would probably have done worse if he hadn’t put a stop to it. He was surprised she had not tried to pull one of her knives, though; she seemed to carry a lot of them. She’d kicked her feet and spat out condemnations, but she hadn’t tried to stab him while he bent her over his knee and cracked his hand across her upraised buttocks again and again, right there in front of them all.

She had been furious, of course. Furious with Anna and Min for their giggles. Furious with Loial for trying to intervene; she could take care of herself, thank you very much. Furious with Bain and Chiad for not intervening; she had been taken aback when they said they did not think she would want them to interfere in a fight she had picked. When you choose the fight, Bain had said, you must take the consequences, win or lose. But she did not seem even the tiniest bit angry with him any longer. That made him nervous. She had only stared at him, her dark eyes glistening with unshed tears, which made him feel guilty, which in turn made him angry. Why should he be guilty? Was he supposed to stand there and let her hit him to her heart’s content? She had mounted Swallow and sat there, very stiff-backed, refusing to sit gingerly, staring at him with an unreadable expression. It made him very nervous. He almost wished she had pulled a knife. Almost.

He almost wished the Shienarans would have rebuked him for striking a woman, too. That was as much a sin in Shienar as it was in the Theren. But, oddly, Ragan had worn a knowing smile when he rode past. He’d even winked. Perrin couldn’t explain what, exactly, he had found so troubling about that. He only knew that it made his hair stand up.

That had been nearly a day ago, or what passed for a day in this lightless place.

Now as then, the darkness of the Ways compressed the light of Perrin’s pole-lantern to a sharp-edged pool around himself and Gaul. The creak of his saddle, the gritty click of hooves on stone, seemed to reach no further than the light’s rim. There was no smell to the air; nothing. The Aielman strode along beside Stepper easily, keeping an eye on the dimly seen lanternglow from Loial’s party ahead. Perrin refused to call it Zarine’s. The Ways did not seem to bother Gaul, for all their reputation.

The faint light ahead stopped, and he drew rein in the middle of what appeared to be an ancient stone bridge arching through utter blackness, ancient because of the breaks in the bridge walls, the pits and shallow ragged craters freckling the roadbed. Very likely it had stood close to three thousand years, but it seemed ready to fall, now. Maybe right now.

The packhorse he led, with the spare oil he’d been allotted for his lantern, crowded up behind Stepper: the animals whickered to each other and rolled their eyes uneasily at the surrounding dark. Perrin knew how the horses felt. A few more people for company would have lifted some of the endless night’s weight. Still, he would not have gone any closer to the lanterns ahead even had he been alone. Not and risk a repeat of what happened back on that first Island. He scratched his curly beard irritably.

“They are moving again,” Gaul said.

The other lights  _ were _ moving. One paused and he assumed that someone had noticed his light was not following yet. Not Zarine, he’d wager. He doubted she would mind if he got lost, and the two Aiel women had twice tried to talk him into walking off a little way with them. He had not needed the slight shake of Gaul’s head to refuse. He heeled Stepper forward, leading the packhorse.

The Guiding here was more pocked than most he had seen, but he rode on past it with only a glance. The light of the other lanterns were already starting down one of the gently sloping ramps, and he followed with a sigh. He hated the ramps. Sided only by darkness, it began to curve, down and around, with nothing discernible beyond the squashed light of the lantern swaying above his head. Something told him that a fall over the edge would never end. Stepper and the packhorse kept to the middle without any urging, and even Gaul avoided the brink. Worse, when the ramp ended on another Island, there was no way to escape the conclusion that it lay directly beneath the one they had just left. He was glad to see Gaul glancing upward, glad he was not alone in wondering what held the Islands up and whether it was still sound.

Once more Loial had stopped by the Guiding, so Perrin reined up again, just off the ramp. This time they did not move on, though. After a few moments, Zarine’s voice called, “Perrin.”

He exchanged looks with Gaul, and the Aiel shrugged. She had not spoken to Perrin since he spanked her.

“Perrin, come here.” Not peremptory, exactly, but not asking, either.

Bain and Chiad were squatting easily beside the Guiding, and Loial and Faile sat their horses close by, pole-lanterns in hand. Moiraine and Lan sat their own mounts among Rand’s gathered armsmen. The brief glance the Warder gave Perrin carried a hint of disapproval. Moiraine remained as cool as ever. Hurin, Min, Anna and the two maids had care of the packhorses.

Loial’s ear tufts twitched as he looked from Zarine to Perrin and back again. She, on the other hand, seemed completely absorbed in adjusting her riding gloves, of soft green leather with golden falcons embroidered on their backs. She had changed her dress, too, probably when they had stopped for dinner. The new one was cut in the same fashion, with a high neck and narrow divided skirts, but it was a dark green brocaded silk, and somehow it seemed to emphasize her bosom. Perrin had never seen the dress before.

“What do you want?” he asked warily.

Zarine looked up as if surprised to see him, tilted her head thoughtfully, then smiled as though it had just occurred to her. “Oh, yes. I wanted to see if you could be taught to come when I call.” Her smiled deepened; it had to be because she had heard his teeth grinding. He scrubbed at his nose; there was a faint rank smell here.

Gaul chuckled softly. “As well try to understand the sun, Perrin. It simply is, and it is not to be understood. You cannot live without it, but it exacts a price. So with women.”

Bain leaned over to whisper in Chiad’s ear, and they both laughed. From the way they looked at Gaul and him, Perrin did not think he would like hearing what the women found so funny.

“It is not that at all,” Loial rumbled, ears shifting testily. He gave Zarine an accusing look, which did not abash her at all; she smiled at him vaguely and went back to her gloves, snugging each finger all over again. “I am sorry, Perrin. She insisted on being the one to call you. This is why. We are there.” He pointed to the base of the Guiding, where a wide pit-broken white line ran off, not to bridge or ramp, but into the darkness. “The Waygate at Manetheren, Perrin.”

Perrin nodded, saying nothing. He was not about to suggest they follow the line, not and have Zarine call him down for trying to take over. He rubbed his nose again absently; that almost imperceptible scent of rankness was irritating. He was not going to make even the most sensible suggestion. If she wanted to lead, let her. But she sat her saddle, fooling with her gloves, obviously waiting for him to speak so she could make some witty remark. She liked wittiness; he preferred saying what he meant. Irritably, he turned Stepper, meaning to go on without her or Loial. The line led to the Waygate, and he could pick out the  _ Avendesora _ leaf that opened it himself.

Suddenly his ears caught a muffled click of hooves from the darkness, and the fetid smell slammed home in his mind. He opened his mouth to give warning, but Lan got there ahead of him.

“Trollocs!” the Warder shouted, ripping his sword from its scabbard.

Gaul pivoted smoothly to slide a spear into the black-mailed chest of a wolf-snouted Trolloc dashing into the light with scythelike sword upraised; in the same effortless motion the Aiel pulled his spearpoint free and sidestepped to let the huge shape fall. More came behind it, though, all goats-snouts and boar’s tusks, cruel beaks and twisted horns, with curved swords and spiked axes and hooked spears. The horses danced and screamed.

Holding his pole-lantern high—the thought of facing these things in the dark gave him cold sweat—Perrin clawed for a weapon, swung at a face distorted by a sharp-toothed snout. He was surprised to realize he had pulled the hammer free of its lashings on his saddlebags, but if it did not have the axe’s sharp edge, ten pounds of steel wielded by a blacksmith’s arm still sent the Trolloc staggering back shrieking and clutching a ruined face.

A ball of fire streaked through the darkness of the Ways to land on the bridge behind them. The fire’s passage showed him a glimpse of the nearest beast-men, tightly packed on the narrow path. When the fire burst among their number, it sent several screaming figures over the edge of the bridge; several more staggered back the way they had come, revealing yet more Trollocs.

_ It’s an army _ , Perrin thought. But were the Trollocs here for them, or were they looking for the Waygate to Manetheren?

None of the lancers were foolish enough to try to charge on that precarious footing. They kept a firm rein on their horses as they rode to join the fray, armed with sword or axe or mace, shouting warcries of “Shienar!”, “The Light!”, or “The Dragon Reborn!”.

Loial dashed his pole-lantern against a goat-horned head, and the lantern broke; bathed in burning oil, the Trolloc ran howling into the dark. The Ogier flailed about him with the stout pole, a switch in his huge hands, but one that landed with sharp cracks of splintering bone. One of Faile’s knives blossomed in an all-too-human eye above a tusked snout. The Aiel danced the spears, having somehow found time to veil themselves. Even in the chaos of battle, Perrin still noticed that they kept their distance from the Shienarans. Lan and Mandarb were at the front of the fighting, and Moiraine’s fire continued to rain down on the more distant Shadowspawn.

With a roar like a hundred pounds of bone falling into a huge meat grinder, a Fade leapt into the light, eyeless stare a stare of death, black sword flickering like lightning. The horses screamed, trying to bolt.

Gaul barely managed to turn that blade with his buckler, losing a slice from the side of it as if the layers of cured bullhide were only paper. He stabbed, eluded a thrust—barely—and stabbed again. Arrows sprouted in the Myrddraal’s chest. Bain and Chiad had thrust their spears through the harness holding the cased bows on their backs and were using those curved horn bows. More arrows, with Anna’s fletchings on them, struck, pincushioning the Halfman’s chest. Gaul’s spear, darting, stabbing. One of Faile’s knives suddenly stood out in that smooth maggot-white face. The Fade would not fall, would not stop trying to kill. Only the wildest dodging kept its sword from finding flesh.

Perrin bared his teeth in an unconscious snarl. He hated Trollocs as an enemy of his blood, but the Neverborn ...? It was worth dying to kill a Neverborn.  _ To put my teeth in its throat ...! _ Careless of whether he blocked the archers’ shots, he guided Stepper closer to the Neverborn’s back, forcing the reluctant dun nearer with reins and knees. At the last instant, the creature spun away from Gaul, seemingly ignoring a spearpoint that thrust between its shoulders and came out below its throat, staring up at Perrin with the eyeless gaze that sent fear into every man’s soul. Too late. Perrin’s hammer fell, shattering head and eyeless gaze alike.

Even down and virtually headless, the Myrddraal still thrashed, lashing aimlessly with its Thakan’dar-wrought blade. Stepper danced back, whickering nervously, and suddenly Perrin felt as if he had been doused in icy water. That black steel made wounds even Aes Sedai found hard to Heal, and he had ridden in uncaring.  _ My teeth in its ... Light, I have to keep hold of myself. I have to! _

The whirlwind of death had lasted ... A minute? Five? It seemed an hour. But suddenly the Trollocs were down, those not already dead kicking in their death throes.

Perrin sucked air into his lungs; his right arm felt as if the weight of the hammer might pull it off. There was a burning sensation on his face, a wetness trickling down his side, another on his leg, where Trolloc steel had gotten through. Each of the Aiel had at least one damp patch darkening their brown-and-grey clothes, and Loial wore a bloody gash down his thigh. Even the armoured Shienarans were nursing injuries. Perrin’s eyes went right past them all, seeking Zarine. If she was hurt ... She sat atop her black mare, a knife in her hand ready to throw. She had actually managed to pull off her gloves and tuck them neatly behind her belt. He could not see a wound on her. In all the blood smell—human, Ogier, Trolloc—he could not have picked out hers if she were bleeding, but he knew her scent, and she did not have the pained smell of injury. Bright lights hurt Trolloc eyes; they did not adapt quickly. Very likely the only reason they he was still alive and the Trollocs dead was that abrupt entry from darkness into light.

The flames Moiraine had cast made a makeshift barrier on the distant bridge. The flickering light the fire cast showed hulking shapes milling about beyond that but with little to feed them the flames were already dying down. That was all the time they had, a moment’s respite, long enough to glance around, take breath. He could still hear smothered sounds from the darkness at the far end of the Island, the clatter of hoofed feet, the scrape of boots, harsh breathing and guttural murmurs. More Trollocs; how many he could not say. A pity they had not been linked to the Myrddraal, yet perhaps they might hesitate to attack without it to drive them. Trollocs were usually cowards in their way, preferring strong odds and easy kills. But even lacking a Myrddraal they could work themselves up to come again eventually.

“The Waygate,” he said. “We have to get out before they decide what to do without that.” He used the bloody hammer to gesture to the still flailing Fade. Zarine reined Swallow around immediately, and he was so surprised, he blurted, “You aren’t going to argue?”

“Not when you speak sense,” she said briskly. “Not when you speak sense. Loial?”

The Ogier took the lead on his tall, hairy-fetlocked mount. Perrin backed Stepper after Zarine and Loial, hammer in hand, the Aiel siding him, all with bows ready now. Anna and the others were close behind, save for Moiraine and Lan, who brought up the rear.

“It is opening,” Loial called. “I must be last out. Go. But not too—No, Faile!”

Twin gates of apparently living leaves were swinging open, revealing a smoked-glass view of mountainous country. Loial had dismounted to remove the  _ Avendesora _ leaf to unlock the gate, and Zarine had hold of his huge mount’s reins. With a hasty shout of “Follow me! Quickly!” she booted Swallow’s ribs, and the black mare sprang toward the opening.

Loial’s ears were practically dancing with agitation. “Go slowly when you pass through the Waygate,” he reminded the others as they filed past him.

Perrin rode Stepper abreast of the Ogier. “Can you lock it shut some way? Block it?”

“Yes,” Loial said. “Yes. But go, before they catch up.”

Perrin reined Stepper back quickly toward the Gate, yet before he knew what he was doing he had thrown back his head and howled, defiance and challenge.  _ Foolish, foolish, foolish! _ Still, he kept his eyes on that pitch dark and backed Stepper into the Waygate. An icy ripple slid across him hair by hair, and time stretched out. The jolt of leaving the Ways hit him, as if he had gone from a dead gallop to a stop in one step.

The Aiel were still turning to face the Waygate, spreading out across the slope with arrows nocked, among low bushes and stunted mountain trees, wind-twisted pine and fir and leatherleaf. Zarine was just picking herself up from where she had tumbled from Swallow’s saddle, the black mare nuzzling her. Galloping out of a Waygate was at least as bad as galloping in; she was lucky she had not broken her neck, and her horse’s, too. Loial’s tall horse was trembling as though hit between the eyes. Perrin opened his mouth, and she glared at him, daring him to make any comment at all, maybe a sympathetic one least of all. He grimaced wryly and wisely kept silent.

“Her backside seems to attract pain to it. I wonder why?” Anna asked Min with exaggerated innocence. Min swatted at her playfully and studiously avoided Zarine’s red-cheeked glare.

Uno glared suspiciously at the unfamiliar countryside with his lone eye, then barked orders for scouts to secure the area. Hurin sniffed at the air, and whatever he smelled made his lined face grow morose.

Moiraine and Lan came through the Waygate calmly. The knowing look the Aes Sedai gave Zarine inspired her to take a suddenly intense interest in Swallow’s bridle. Lan ignored her altogether.

Abruptly Loial came hurtling out of the Waygate, leaping out of a dull silvery mirror with his own reflection growing behind him, and rolled across the ground. Almost on his heels, two Trollocs appeared, ram’s horns and snout, eagle’s beak and feathered crest, but before they were more than halfway out, Lan’s sword arced out and opened their throats.

Loial rushed forward quickly to touch the door of the Waygate; it became stone again, a section of stone wall, carved in intricate detail, standing alone on a sparsely wooded mountainside. Among the myriad leaves and vines was not one, but two  _ Avendesora _ leaves. Loial had replaced the trefoil leaf from inside on the outside.

The Ogier heaved a deep, relieved sigh. “That is the best I can do. It can only be opened from this side now.” He gave Perrin a look at once anxious and firm. “I could have locked it forever by not replacing the leaves, but I will not ruin a Waygate, Perrin. We grew the Ways and tended them. Perhaps they can be cleansed someday. I cannot ruin a Waygate.”

“It will do,” Perrin told him.

Stepper’s hooves crunched on gritty dirt as Perrin turned him to see where they were. Cloud-capped mountains rose all around; it was the ever-present clouds that gave them their name, the Mountains of Mist. The air was cool at this altitude, even in summer. The late-afternoon sun sat on the western peaks, glinting on streams running down to the river that coursed along the floor of the long valley below. The Manetherendrelle, most people called it, once it had snaked out of the mountains and rushed down to the southeast, but Perrin had grown up calling the length of it that ran along the south edge of the Theren the White River, an un-crossable stretch of rapids that churned its waters to froth. The Manetherendrelle. Waters of the Mountain Home.

Where bare rock showed in the valley below or on the surrounding slopes, it glittered like glass. Once a city had stood there, covering valley and mountains. Manetheren, city of soaring spires and splashing fountains, capital of a great nation of the same name, perhaps the most beautiful city in the world, according to old Ogier tales. Gone now without a trace, except for the all but-indestructible Waygate that had stood in the Ogier grove. Burned to barren rock more than two thousand years ago, while the Trolloc Wars still raged, destroyed by the One Power after the death of its last king, Aemon al Caar al Thorin, in his last bloody battle against the Shadow. Aemon’s Field, men had named that place, where the village called Emond’s Field now stood.

Perrin shivered. That was long ago. Trollocs had come once since, on Winternight more than a year gone, the night before he and Rand and Mat were forced to flee in the darkness with Moiraine. That seemed long ago, too, now. He was aware of the Aes Sedai’s eyes on him, but refused to look her way. It could not happen again, with the Waygate locked.  _ It’s Whitecloaks I have to worry about, not Trollocs. Not again _ .

A pair of white-winged hawks wheeled above the far end of the valley. Perrin’s eyes barely caught the streak of a rising arrow. One of the hawks cartwheeled and fell, and Perrin frowned. Why would anyone shoot a hawk up here in the mountains? Over a farm, if it was after the chickens or the geese, but up here? Why would anyone even be up here? Theren people avoided the mountains, for the most part, other than the occasional overly curious youths. Perrin refused to think about that. He’d need to contact Rand once the sun set, to let him know they had made it through the Ways. Assuming he could find him in the dream world at least.

As he watched, the second hawk swooped on snowy wings toward where its mate had fallen, but suddenly it was climbing desperately. A black cloud of ravens burst from the trees, surrounding it in wild melee, and when they settled again, the hawk was gone.

Perrin made himself breathe. He had seen ravens, and other birds, attack a hawk that came too close to their nests before, but he could not make himself believe it that simple this time. The birds had burst up from about where the arrow had risen. Ravens. The Shadow used animals as spies sometimes. Rats and others that fed on death, usually. Ravens, especially. He had sharp memories of running from sweeping lines of ravens that had hunted him as though they had intelligence.

“What are you staring at?” Zarine asked, shading her eyes to peer down the valley. “Were those birds?”

“Just birds,” he said.  _ Maybe they were. I can’t frighten everybody until I’m sure _ .

He was still holding his bloody hammer, he realized, slick with black Myrddraal blood. His fingers found drying blood on his cheek, matting in his short beard. When he climbed down, his side and his leg burned. He found a shirt in his saddlebags to clean the hammer before the Fade’s blood etched the metal. In a moment he would find out if there was anything to fear in these mountains. If it was more than men, the wolves would know.

Zarine began unbuttoning his coat. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Tending your wounds,” she snapped back. “I’ll not have you bleeding to death on me. That would be just like you, to die and leave me the work of burying you. You have no consideration. Hold still.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly, and she looked surprised.

She made him strip off everything but his smallclothes, so she could wash his wounds and rub them with ointment fetched from her saddlebags. He could not see the cut on his face, of course, but it seemed small and shallow, if uncomfortably close to his eye. The slash across his left side was over a hand long, though, straight along a rib, and the hole a spear had made in his right thigh was deep. She asked Moiraine to see to that, but the Aes Sedai refused to Heal any wound that did not threaten to kill or cripple. So Zarine had to put stitches in his leg, with needle and thread from her sewing kit. He took it stoically; she was the one who winced at every stitch. She muttered angrily under her breath the whole time she worked, especially while rubbing her dark stinging cream into his cheek, looking almost as if the hurts were hers, and his fault, yet she tied bandages around his ribs and his thigh with a gentle hand. It made a startling contrast, her soft touch and her furious grumbles. Purely confusing.

While he donned a clean shirt and a spare pair of breeches from his saddlebags, Zarine stood fingering the slice in the side of his coat. Two inches to the right, and he would not have left that Island. Stamping his feet in his boots, he reached for his coat—and she flung it at him.

“You needn’t think I will sew that up for you. I’ve done all the sewing for you I mean to! Do you hear me, Perrin Aybara?”

“I didn’t ask—”

“You needn’t think it! That’s all!” She stalked away to help the others. They made an odd group; the Shienarans helping each other to unbuckle armour in order to get at any cuts or bruises underneath; Gaul and Chiad eyeing each other like strange cats as they tended each other’s cuts. The Ogier had taken his baggy breeches off to tend to the cut on his leg and was conscientiously using one huge hand to shield his no-doubt huge crotch from anyone’s eyes. Min wasn’t the only one to dart a curious glance his way when they thought no-one would notice. Zarine helped where she could, spreading her ointment and wrapping bandages and all the while shooting accusing glares at him. What was he supposed to have done now?

Perrin shook his head.  _ Gaul was right _ , he decided;  _ as well try to understand the sun _ . Even the unwelcome memories of the other lives he’d witnessed when travelling through the Portal Stone weren’t enough to give him the answer to that riddle, he told himself. There was no point thinking about them, and every reason not to.

Even knowing what he had to do now, he was reluctant, especially after what had happened in the Ways, with the Fade. Once he had seen a man who had forgotten he was human. The same could happen to him. But he had to know.  _ Those ravens _ .

He sent his mind questing across the valley for the wolves. There were always wolves where men were not, and if they were close, he could talk with them. Wolves avoided men, ignored them as much as possible, but they hated Trollocs for unnatural things, and despised Myrddraal with a hatred too deep to hold. If Shadowspawn were in the Mountains of Mist, the wolves could tell him.

But he found no wolves. None. They should have been there, in this wilderness. He could see deer browsing down in the valley. Perhaps it was just that no wolves were close enough. They could talk over some distance, but even a mile was too far. Maybe it was less in mountains. That could be it.

His gaze swept across the cloud-capped peaks and settled on the valley’s far end, where the ravens had come from. Maybe he would find wolves tomorrow. He did not want to think of the alternatives.


	29. To the Tower of Ghenjei

CHAPTER 26: The Tower of Ghenjei

With night so near, they had no choice but to camp there on the mountain near the Waygate. Zarine tried to insist on two camps but found little support for the idea.

“That is done with,” Loial told her in a displeased rumble. “We are out of the Ways, and I have kept my oath. It is finished.” Zarine put on one of her stubborn expressions, with chin up and fists on hips, until Moiraine intervened.

“You children have had quite enough fun,” said the Aes Sedai, “it is time for you to be quiet. I will make the decisions from here on. Uno, make camp between those rises.” Zarine did not dare argue with the Aes Sedai, but she did get a sulky look on her face.

The Shienaran saluted before barking orders for his men to set up where she had pointed.

Perrin helped them, dumping his own pallet less than twenty paces from Zarine’s. The Waygate might be locked, but there were still the ravens, and whatever they might presage. He wanted to be near if needed. If she complained she could just complain. He was so set to ignore her protests that it irked him when she made none.

Disregarding twinges from his leg and side, he unsaddled Stepper and unloaded the packhorse, hobbled both animals and fitted them with nose bags with a few handfuls of barley and some oats. There was certainly no grazing up here. As to what there was, though ... He strung his bow and laid it across his quiver near the fire, slipped the axe free of its belt loop.

Gaul joined him in making a fire, and they had a meal of bread and cheese and dried beef, eaten in silence and washed down with water. The sun slid behind the mountains, silhouetting the peaks and painting the under-sides of the clouds red. Shadows blanketed the valley, and the air began to grow crisp.

Lan, Hurin and several of the lancers waited only long enough to eat a quick meal before riding out to scout the immediate area. Moiraine did not watch them go. She sat crosslegged before the largest fire, seemingly lost in thought. Min sat with her and Anna, her face showing all the worry that the Aes Sedai never did. Every once in a while Min would glance Perrin’s way but he didn’t think it was him she was worried about.

Dusting crumbs from his hands, Perrin dug his good green wool cloak out of his saddlebags. Zarine and the Aiel women were certainly not eating in silence around their shadow-shrouded fire; he could hear them laughing, and the bits of what they said that he picked up made his ears burn. Women would talk about anything; they had no restraint at all. Worse, Saeri and Luci had drifted over to join them. He’d have thought they’d at least have the decency not to talk about such things in front of the girls! Loial had moved as far away from them as he could and still be in the light, and was trying to bury himself in a book. They probably did not even realize they were embarrassing the Ogier; they probably thought they were talking quietly enough for Loial not to hear.

Muttering to himself, Perrin sat back down across the fire from Gaul. The Aiel seemed to be taking no notice of the chill. “Do you know any funny stories?”

“Funny stories? I cannot think of one, offhand.” Gaul’s eyes half-turned to the other fire, and the laughter. “I would if I could. The sun, remember?”

Perrin laughed noisily and made his voice loud enough to carry. “I do. Women!” The hilarity in the other fire faded for a moment before rising again. That should show them. Other people could laugh.

“And to think I was starting to feel sorry for him,” Min told Anna tartly, in a voice meant to be overheard. Perrin stared glumly into the fire. His wounds ached.

After a moment, Gaul said, “This place begins to look more like the Three-fold Land than most of the wetlands. Too much water, still, and the trees are still too big and too many, but it is not so strange as the places called forests.”

The soil was poor here where Manetheren had died in fire, the widely scattered trees all stunted and thick-boled, odd wind-bent shapes, none as much as thirty feet high. Perrin thought it about as desolate a spot as he had ever seen.

“I wish I could see your Three-fold Land someday, Gaul.”

“Perhaps you will, when we are done here. If Rand al’Thor is what I suspect.”

“If? You doubt he is the Dragon Reborn?”

“The Dragon Reborn is a wetlander prophecy, ours is different,” Gaul said. “But let us speak no more of that.” He gestured at the mountains around them. “This is where Manetheren stood? You are of Manetheren’s blood?”

“This was Manetheren,” Perrin replied slowly. “And I suppose I am.” It was hard to believe that the small villages and quiet farms of the Theren held the last of Manetheren’s blood, but that was what Moiraine had said. The old blood runs strong in the Theren, she had said. “That was a long time ago, Gaul. We are farmers, shepherds; not a great nation, not great warriors.”

Gaul smiled slightly. “If you say it. I have seen you dance the spears. But if you say it.”

Perrin shifted uncomfortably. How much had he changed since leaving home? Himself, and Rand, and Mat? Not his eyes, and the wolves, or Rand’s channelling; he did not mean that. How much of what was inside remained unchanged? Mat was the only one who had still seemed to be just himself, but was even that true now? It had been a long time since he’d seen him. “You know about Manetheren?”

“We know more of your world than you think. And less than we believed. Long before I crossed the Dragonwall I had read books brought by peddlers. I knew of ‘ships’ and ‘rivers’ and ‘forests,’ or thought I did.” Gaul made them sound like words in a strange tongue. “This is how I envisioned a ‘forest.’ ” He gestured at the sparse trees, dwarfed from the height they should have had. “To believe a thing is not to make it true. What of the Nightrunner, and Leafblighter’s get? Do you believe it just coincidence they came near this Waygate?”

“No.” Perrin sighed. “I saw ravens, down the valley. Maybe that’s all they were, but I don’t want to take the chance, not after the Trollocs.”

Gaul nodded. “They could have been Shadoweyes. If you plan for the worst, all surprises are pleasant.”

“I could do with a pleasant surprise.” Perrin felt for wolves again, and again found nothing. “I may be able to find out something tonight. Maybe. If anything happens here, you might have to kick me to wake me.” That sounded odd, he realized, but Gaul only nodded again. “Gaul, you’ve never mentioned my eyes, or even given them a second glance. Neither have Bain or Chiad.” He knew they were glowing golden now, in the firelight.

“The world is changing,” Gaul said quietly. “Rhuarc, and Jheran, my own clan chief—the Wise Ones, too—they tried to hide it, but they were uneasy when they sent us across the Dragonwall searching for He Who Comes With the Dawn. I think perhaps the change will not be what we have always believed. I do not know how it will be different, but it will be. The Creator put us in the Three-fold Land to shape us as well as to punish our sin, but for what have we been shaped?” He shook his head suddenly, ruefully. “Colinda, the Wise One of Hot Springs Hold, tells me I think too much for a Stone Dog, and Bair, the eldest Wise One of the Shaarad, threatens to send me to Rhuidean when Jheran dies whether I want to go or not. Beside all of that, Perrin, what does the colour of a man’s eyes matter?”

“I wish everybody thought that way.” The merriment had finally stopped at Zarine’s fire. One of the Aiel women—Perrin could not tell which—was taking the first watch, her back to the light, and everyone else had settled down for sleep. It had been a tiring day. Sleep should be easy to find, and the dream he needed. He stretched out beside the fire, pulling his cloak around him. “Remember. Kick me awake, if need be.”

Sleep enfolded him while Gaul was still nodding, and the dream came at once.

It was daylight, and he stood alone near the Waygate, which looked like an elegantly carved length of wall, incongruous on the mountainside. Except for that there was no sign any human had ever set foot on that slope. The sky was bright and fine, and a soft breeze up the valley brought him the scent of deer and rabbits, quail and dove, a thousand distinct smells, of water and earth and trees. This was the wolf dream.

For a moment the sense of being a wolf rolled over him. He had paws, and ... No! He ran his hands over himself, relieved to find only his own body, in his own coat and cloak. And the wide belt that normally held his axe, but with the hammer haft thrust through the loop instead.

He frowned at that, and surprisingly, for a moment, the axe flickered there instead, insubstantial and misty. Abruptly it was the hammer again. Licking his lips, he hoped it stayed that way. The axe might be a better weapon, but he preferred the hammer. He could not remember anything like that happening before, something changing, but he knew little of this strange place. If it could be called a place. It was the wolf dream, and odd things happened there, surely as odd as in any ordinary dream.

As though thinking of the oddities triggered one of them, a patch of sky against the mountains darkened suddenly, became a window to somewhere else. Rand stood amid swirling stormwinds, laughing wildly, even madly, arms upraised, and on the winds rode small shapes, gold-and-scarlet, like the strange figure on the Dragon banner; hidden eyes watched Rand, and there was no telling whether he knew it. The odd “window” winked out, only to be replaced by another farther over, where Nynaeve stalked cautiously through a demented landscape of twisted, shadowed buildings, hunting some dangerous beast. Perrin could not have said how he knew it was dangerous, but he did. That vanished, and another black blotch spread across the sky. Mat, standing where a road forked ahead of him. He flipped a coin, started down one branch, and suddenly was wearing a wide-brimmed hat and walking with a staff bearing a short sword blade. Another “window,” and Elayne and a woman he did not know were arguing while behind them the White Tower crumbled stone by stone. Then they were gone, too.

Perrin drew a deep breath. He had seen the like before, here in the wolf dream, and he thought the sightings were real in some way, or meant something. Whatever they were, the wolves never saw them. Moiraine had suggested that the wolf dream was the same as something called  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ , and then would say no more.

There was one person he could have gone to for answers. He wished he could find Elyas Machera, the man who had introduced him to the wolves. Elyas had to know about these things. When he thought of the man, it seemed for a moment he heard his own name whispered faintly in the wind, but when he listened, there was only the wind. It was a lonely sound. Here there was only himself.

“Hopper!” he called, and in his mind,  _ Hopper! _ The wolf was dead, and yet not dead, here. The wolf dream was where wolves came when they died, to await being born again. It was more than that, to wolves; they seemed in some way to be aware of the dream even while awake. One was almost as real—maybe as real—as the other, to them. “Hopper!”  _ Hopper! _ But Hopper did not come.

This was all useless. He was there for a reason, and he might as well get on with it. At best, getting down to where he had seen the ravens rise would take hours.

He took a step—the land around him blurred—and his foot came down near a narrow brook beneath stunted hemlock and mountain willow, with cloud-capped peaks towering above. For a moment he stared in amazement. He was at the far end of the valley from the Waygate. In fact, he was at the very spot he had been aiming for, the place where the ravens had come from, and the arrow that killed the first hawk. Such a thing had never happened to him before. Was he learning more of the wolf dream—Hopper had always said he was ignorant—or was it different this time?

He was more cautious with his next step, but it was only a step. There was no evidence of archer or ravens, no track, no feather, no scent. He was not sure what he had expected. There would be no sign unless they had been in the dream, too. But if he could find wolves in the dream, they could help him find their brothers and sisters in the waking world, and those wolves could tell him if there were Shadowspawn in the mountains. Perhaps if he were higher up they could hear him call.

Fixing his eye on the highest peak bordering the valley, just below the clouds, he stepped. The world blurred, and he was standing on the mountainside, with white billows not five spans overhead. In spite of himself, he laughed. This was fun. From here he could see the entire valley stretched out below.

“Hopper!” No answer.

He leaped to the next mountain, calling, and the next, and the next, eastward, toward the Theren. Hopper did not answer. More troubling, Perrin did not sense any other wolves, either. There were always wolves in the wolf dream. Always.

From peak to peak he sped in blurred motion, calling, seeking. The mountains lay empty beneath him, except for deer and other game. Yet there were occasional signs of men. Ancient signs. Twice great carved figures took nearly an entire mountainside, and in another place strange angular letters two spans high had been incised across a cliff a shade too smooth and sheer. Weathering had worn away the figures’ faces, and eyes less sharp than his might have taken the letters themselves for the work of wind and rain. Mountains and cliffs gave way to the Sand Hills, great rolling mounds sparsely covered with tough grass and stubborn bushes, once the shore of a great sea before the Breaking. And suddenly he saw another man, atop a sandy hill.

The fellow was too distant to see clearly, just a tall, dark-haired man, but plainly not a Trolloc or anything of the sort, in a blue coat with a bow on his back, stooping over something on the ground hidden by the low brush. Yet there was something familiar about him.

The wind rose, and Perrin caught his smell faintly. A cold scent, that was the only way to describe it. Cold, and not really human. Suddenly his own bow was in his hand, an arrow nocked, and the weight of a filled quiver tugged at his belt.

The other man looked up, saw Perrin. For a heartbeat he hesitated, then turned and became a streak, slashing away across the hills.

Perrin leaped down to where he had stood, stared at what had occupied the fellow, and without thought pursued, leaving the half-skinned corpse of a wolf behind. A dead wolf in the wolf dream. It was unthinkable. What could kill a wolf here? Something evil.

His prey ran ahead of him in strides that covered miles, never more than barely in sight. Out of the hills and across the tangled Westwood with its wide-scattered farms, over cleared farmland, a quilt of hedged fields and small thickets, and past Watch Hill. It was odd to see the thatched village houses covering the hill with no people in the streets, and farmhouses standing as if abandoned. But he kept his eye on the man fleeing ahead of him. He had become so used to this pursuit that he felt no surprise when one leaping stride put him down on the south bank of the River Taren and the next amid barren hills without trees or grass. West he ran, over streams and hills and roads, intent only on the man ahead. The land grew flat and grassy, broken by scattered thickets, without any sign of man. Then something glittered ahead, sparkling in the sun, a tower of metal. His quarry sped straight for it, and vanished. Two leaps brought Perrin there as well.

Two hundred feet the tower rose, and forty thick, gleaming like burnished steel. It might as well have been a solid column of metal. Perrin walked around it twice without seeing any opening, not so much as a crack, not even a mark on that smooth, sheer wall. The smell hung here, though, that cold, inhuman stink. The trail ended here. The man—if man he was—had gone inside somehow. He only had to find the way to follow.

_ Stop!  _ It was a raw flow of emotion that Perrin’s mind put a word to.  _ Stop! _

He turned as a great grey wolf as tall as his waist, grizzled and scarred, alighted as if he had just leaped down from the sky. He might well have. Hopper had always envied eagles their ability to fly, and here, he could too. Yellow eyes met yellow eyes.

“Why should I stop, Hopper? He killed a wolf.”

_ Men have killed wolves, and wolves men. Why does anger seize your throat like fire this time? _

“I don’t know,” Perrin said slowly. “Maybe because it was here. I didn’t know it was possible to kill a wolf here. I thought wolves were safe in the dream.”

_ You chase Slayer, Young Bull. He is here in the flesh, and he can kill _ .

“In the flesh? You mean not just dreaming? How can he be here in the flesh?”

_ I do not know. It is a thing dimly remembered from long ago, come again as so much else. Things of the Shadow walk the dream, now. Creatures of Heartfang. There is no safety _ .

“Well, he’s inside, now.” Perrin studied the featureless metal tower. “If I can find how he got in, I can put an end to him.”

_ Cub foolish, digging in a groundwasps’ nest. This place is evil. All know this. And you would chase evil into evil. Slayer can kill _ .

Perrin paused. There was a sense of finality to the emotions his mind attached the word “kill” to. “Hopper, what happens to a wolf who dies in the dream?”

The wolf was silent for a time.  _ If we die here, we die forever, Young Bull. I do not know if the same is true for you, but I believe it is _ .

“A dangerous place, archer. The Tower of Ghenjei is a bad place for humankind.”

Perrin whirled, half-raising his bow before he saw the woman standing a few paces away, her golden hair in a thick braid to her waist, almost the way women wore it in the Theren, but more intricately woven. Her clothes were oddly cut, a short white coat and voluminous trousers of some thin pale yellow material gathered at the ankles above short boots. Her dark cloak seemed to hide something that glinted silver at her side.

She shifted, and the metallic flicker vanished. “You have sharp eyes, archer. I thought that the first time I saw you.”

How long had she been watching? It was embarrassing that she had sneaked up without him hearing. At the least Hopper should have warned him. The wolf was lying down in the knee-high grass, muzzle on his fore-paws, watching him.

The woman seemed vaguely familiar, though Perrin was certain he would have remembered her had he ever seen her before. Who was she, to be in the wolf dream? “Are you Aes Sedai?”

“No, archer.” She laughed. “I only came to warn you, despite the prescripts. Once entered, the Tower of Ghenjei is hard enough to leave in the world of men. Here it is all but impossible. You have a bannerman’s courage, which some say cannot be told from foolhardiness.”

Impossible to leave? The fellow—Slayer—surely had gone in. Why would he do that if he could not leave? “Hopper said it’s dangerous, too. The Tower of Ghenjei? What is it?”

Her eyes widened, and she glanced at Hopper, who still lay stretched out on the grass ignoring her and watching Perrin. “You can talk to wolves? Now that is a thing long lost in legend. So that is how you are here. I should have known. The tower? It is a doorway, archer, to the realms of the Aelfinn and the Eelfinn.” She said the names as if he should recognize them. When he looked at her blankly, she said, “Did you ever play the game called Snakes and Foxes?”

“All children do. At least, they do in the Theren. But they give it up when they get old enough to realize there’s no way to win.”

“Except to break the rules,” she said. “ ‘Courage to strengthen, fire to blind, music to daze, iron to bind.’ ”

“That’s a line from the game. I don’t understand. What does it have to do with this tower?”

“Those are the ways to win against the snakes and the foxes. The game is a remembrance of old dealings. It does not matter so long as you stay away from the Aelfinn and the Eelfinn. They are not evil the way the Shadow is evil, yet they are so different from humankind they might as well be. They are not to be trusted, archer. Stay clear of the Tower of Ghenjei. Avoid the World of Dreams, if you can. Dark things walk.”

“Like the man I was chasing? Slayer.”

“A good name for him. This Slayer is not old, archer, but his evil is ancient.” She almost appeared to be leaning slightly on something invisible; perhaps that silver thing he had never quite seen. “I seem to be telling you a great deal. I do not understand why I spoke in the first place. Of course. Are you  _ ta’veren _ , archer?”

“Who are you?” She seemed to know a lot about the tower, and the wolf dream. But she was surprised I could talk to Hopper. “I’ve met you before somewhere, I think.”

“I have broken too many of the prescripts already, archer.”

“Prescripts? What prescripts?” A shadow fell on the ground behind Hopper, and Perrin turned quickly, angry at being caught by surprise again. There was no-one there. But he had seen it; the shadow of a man with the hilts of two swords rising above his shoulders. Something about that image teased his memory.

“He is right,” the woman said behind him. “I should not be talking to you.”

When he turned back, she was gone. As far as he could see were only grassland and scattered thickets. And the gleaming, silvery tower.

He frowned at Hopper, who finally lifted his head from his paws. “It’s a wonder you aren’t attacked by chipmunks,” Perrin muttered. “What did you make of her?”

_ Her? A she? _ Hopper stood, looking around.  _ Where? _

“I was talking to her. Right here. Just now.”

_ You made noises at the wind, Young Bull. There was no she here. None but you and I _ .

Perrin scratched his beard irritably. She had been there. He had not been talking to himself. “Strange things can happen here,” he told himself. “She agreed with you, Hopper. She told me to stay away from this tower.”

_ She is wise _ . There was an element of doubt in the thought; Hopper still did not believe there had been any “she”.

“I’ve come awfully far afield from what I intended,” Perrin muttered. He explained his need to find wolves in the Theren, or the mountains above, explained about the ravens, and the Trollocs in the Ways.

When he was done, Hopper remained silent for a long time, his bushy tail held low and stiff. Finally ...  _ Avoid your old home, Young Bull _ . The image Perrin’s mind called “home” was of the land marked by a wolfpack.  _ There are no wolves there now. Those who were and did not flee are dead. Slayer walks the dream there _ .

“I have to go home, Hopper. I have to.”

_ Take care, Young Bull. The day of the Last Hunt draws near. We will run together in the Last Hunt _ .

“We will,” Perrin said sadly. It would be nice if he could come here when he died; he was half wolf already, it seemed sometimes. “I have to go now, Hopper.”

_ May you know good hunting, Young Bull, and shes to give you many cubs _ .

“Goodbye, Hopper.”

The wolf disappeared even as Perrin was looking at him. He wondered if he would have appeared to do the same when he was “jumping” from mountain to mountain, had anyone been around to see. He still needed to find Rand and tell him they had made it safely to the Theren, but exactly how to locate his friend in this place was a puzzle to him.  _ Perhaps if I just ... wanted it, the way I wanted to move before _ . He pictured Rand in his mind, and tried to recall everything he remembered of Stedding Tsofu. They hadn’t stayed there long but a lot had changed as a result of that visit, and the Portal Stone.

As soon as he thought of it, the Stone appeared in front of him, resting under the shade of a huge tree. Rand was there, too, but not resting. He stood with his arms folded across his chest, frowning thoughtfully at the carved spire. The wind tugged at his knee-length red coat. He didn’t notice that, just as he didn’t notice Perrin.

“I found you. Good. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to pass on the news.”

Rand gave a start at the sound of Perrin’s voice, and spun to face him. Her long, red braid whipped around behind her and the motion set her magnificent bust to quivering.

Perrin’s eyes were drawn, like iron filings to a lodestone, towards the generous expanse of pale cleavage that her low cut red dress revealed. He felt his mouth drop open.

“Perrin, you’re here,” Raye said happily. A brief look of confusion crossed her beautiful face and she cleared her throat.

“Did you make it safely through the Ways then? Is everyone else alright?” Rand continued in his normal voice. And just like that, he was himself again.

_ What in the Light was that? _ Rand didn’t even seem to have noticed anything had happened, but for a moment he had looked and sounded just like he had on some of those Portal Stone worlds, the ones where particularly ... strange things had happened to them both. It brought back memories Perrin had been trying to avoid thinking of. It made his heart beat faster, too.

After Perrin had been silent too long, Rand said, “Something happened. Someone was hurt. Who was it, Perrin? Tell me!” A note of panic crept into his voice.

Perrin raised his hands and hastened to reassure him. “It’s fine, Rand, everyone’s well. We all made it safely to the Manetheren Waygate. I was just distracted, that’s all.”

Rand blew out a loud breath. “That’s ... that’s good. I thought ... Never mind,” he said, scrubbing a hand through his now shorter hair. It was the same dark red shade as Raye’s had been. The eyes were the same as well, a light blue.

_ Stop thinking about her _ , Perrin told himself. “How did things go on your end?” he asked.

“Well enough. I’ve been opening and shutting the Waygate periodically to see if  _ Machin Shin _ is still there and it looks like it hasn’t budged since it first arrived. We had a bit of trouble with the Ogier. They weren’t happy to find us ‘playing’ with a Waygate, but they stopped short of actually driving us off, thank the Light. The Ogier that caught us went to tell the Elders, and from what I’m told they’ve been debating what to do about us for the past day.” Rand’s sudden grin almost reminded him of Mat. “Hopefully they’ll still be debating it in the morning, when it’s time for us to leave.”

Perrin grinned, too. “Curse those hasty humans.”

“Exactly!” Rand laughed.

Perrin’s grin wavered. “So you still plan to attempt the Portal Stone then?”

Rand nodded. “I can’t get to the Theren through the Ways. I suppose I could try finding a ship that’s going down the River Alguenya and jump ship near the Taren, but Cairhien is in the middle of a civil war. The  _ stedding _ hasn’t been touched but I doubt the same could be said of the world outside. Besides, it would take longer. The Stones should work. We managed to get here from Braem Woods without trouble.”

“Hopefully. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes if it didn’t. Moiraine wouldn’t be the only one looking to take a strip out of your hide if you got lost in those other worlds again.”

Rand’s gaze slid back towards the Portal Stone. “Tell me about it,” he said absently.

Whatever thought crossed Rand’s mind in that moment caused him to rub at his arms as though cold. He shivered, and in shivering he also ... shimmered.

Perrin felt his mouth drop again. Raye was back, standing right where Rand had been standing, holding her arms in exactly the way Rand had been holding his, staring at the Portal Stone, lost in thought. It was his old friend ... and yet it was so much more. Zarine was much more girlish in dress and behaviour than Anna or Min were, but even she could not compare to Raye. She had a lush figure, wide hips, a narrow waist, a very full bust; all of those riches were swathed in a long, womanly gown of red silk, embroidered across the shoulders and hem with little golden birds—Phoenixes, a dim memory told him. As Perrin’s mouth dropped lower, another part of him rose.

He went to her. Hesitantly he placed his hands on her hips, slid them up over her curves towards her waist. His hips touched her cheeks of her rounded bottom and found them soft, so much softer than Rand’s. He pressed himself against her and sprang to full erectness almost instantly.

“Perrin?” Raye breathed. “I wasn’t expecting—” She laughed softly. “Not that I’m complaining, mind ...”

She was very tall for a woman, but not quite as tall as him. He brushed her braid aside with his bearded chin, the better to kiss the side of her slender neck. Raye leaned back against him, offering her throat to his jaws trustingly. It was too much. He spun her around forcefully and locked his lips to hers as though he meant to devour her. He caressed her hair for a time, before running his hands down her back; they discovered a double handful of fleshy buttocks and he squeezed, hard.

Eyes closed, Raye arched her back and, by accident or design, presented her cleavage to Perrin’s hungry eyes. He gripped the expensive fabric in his powerful hands and tore it apart carelessly. Her breasts spilled free to bounce before him; her pink nipples already stiffening.

“What brought his on, Perrin?” Raye murmured. “It’s not like you to be the instigator.”

Perrin didn’t answer, preferring to maul her lovely globes in his hands.

“What the—!?” gasped Raye. Her eyes snapped open and she stared down at her own chest in shock. “That ... How did ...? That’s not right.”

But it had never felt more right to Perrin. He kept the image of her fixed in his mind as be bent down to kiss her breasts.

“Not the Lines of If,” Raye gasped. “I wouldn’t remember if—uh!” She cut off when Perrin took one of her nipples in his mouth and began sucking on it. “Oh, so much more sensitive ...”

He pushed her to the soft grass and followed her down, staring in fascination at the way the impact made her breasts shake.

Her cheeks were pink already but got even pinker when he began pushing up her skirts. “This place ... Something is wrong,” she whispered, but she did not try to stop him.

If it was wrong, then Perrin didn’t want to be right. With her skirts bunched up around her hips he could see her beribboned shoes, and the fine white stockings that stretched to mid-thigh. Her underwear was white too, frilly and decorated with little blue flowers. “Light help me,” he gritted, before taking hold of her undergarments and ripping them apart like they were made of paper. Raye gasped loudly. He saw her sex then. Red hair crowned it, the pussy he had wanted to see. The pussy he wanted. The pussy he would take.

Suddenly he was naked. He hadn’t undressed. But between one moment and the next he went from fully clothed to stark naked, kneeling between Raye’s legs with his hands on her knees, holding them, and the little pink slit at their apex, open to receive his hungry cock.

And receive it she did. “Raye!” he cried as he thrust himself into her fiery body. The gasp she let out then was louder than before. It was so thrillingly girlish that he couldn’t help but thrust his length into her again. And again and again.

Perrin fucked Raye hard and fast, spurred on almost as much by the sight of her wildly jiggling chest as by the pleasure with which her heat blessed his cock. She took it wordlessly, though not in silence. She squeezed her eyes shut, gripping two handfuls of grass in her upraised hands and tossing her head from side to side as though to deny what was happening. To deny that she was his woman.

A growl rumbled through Young Bull’s chest and the movement of his hips became frantic. He didn’t pause their hard pounding even when Raye stiffened against him, her lower legs kicking helplessly against his grip as she bit her lip in a futile effort to stifle her moans.

The growl grew louder as he beheld her then. Her features, already softened from the more familiar face he knew, softened yet further as she slumped before him. While Rand was undeniably a man and Raye was undeniably a woman, there was still a notable resemblance between them. They could have been brother and sister. Twins even. In some ways, perhaps that was even what they were.

There was a bark that surely had not come from him. Young Bull ignored the annoying little voice that whined of wrongness and people dens. He folded one of Raye’s legs towards the other and grabbed her hind in his paw. He pulled her up to all four paws, his cock never leaving her pussy. That was as it should be. His hips slapped against her hindquarters in a feverish tempo. Her long red fur waved before him teasingly so he took it in one paw and held it tight, pulling her head back. Her teats hung beneath her, shaking madly in response to his mating.

Shadowkiller’s flesh was surprisingly soft and smooth against Young Bull’s fur. He could have easily bit through the long fur between his jaws but that was not the way to treat his bitch. He bent over her with his panting muzzle near her ear. His front paws clawed the ground near her own small, almost clawless paws. His tail wagged of its own accord as he mated her, his knotted cock rubbing against her insides as quickly as he could move it; his heavy, furred balls slapping against her.

It was daytime, and warm. There was no moon to howl at but that did not stop Young Bull from calling out his release. His howl echoed across the empty grassland as he filled his mate with his seed. She would bear him many healthy pups, he thought, as his knotted cock shot streams of wolf come into Shadowkiller’s hot pussy. The pack would grow stronger.

Her woven red fur fell from his suddenly slack jaws. His mate was wet with her sweat and his slaver, though the other wetness was still safely locked within her body by his knot. He licked the back of her neck with his long tongue and felt her shudder. His legs felt shaky in the aftermath, and when he adjusted his weight his knotted cock caught in her opening and stretched her wide. She made a loud sound that he did not understand.

He could not hear her voice. He’d never been able to hear her. She was strange that way. She made noises, but she did not speak as a wolf should. Even now, as she lay beneath his furred bulk, she let out little yipping sounds between her gasping breaths.

“I can’t believe— ... I mean, even by  _ my _ standards, this was out there ... The Women’s Circle ... really would murder me ... if they knew about this ... No exaggeration ... Blood and ashes! ... Are you going to let me up, Perrin? ... I’m not sure I ... could take another round of ...  _ that _ .” It was all nonsense sounds to Young Bull. All save for one of her yippings. Perrin.

That ... That meant something. That ... was a name. A man’s name. He was bigger than most, so he had to be careful not to hurt anyone, even if that meant letting people think him slow. He wanted a simple life, in a place ... a place called Emond’s Field. He would be a blacksmith. Just that. A blacksmith with eyes as brown as everyone else’s. Perrin was his name, Perrin Aybara.

Perrin was HIS name!

True awareness crashed down upon Perrin like an anvil dropped from a great height. The comfortable post-sex lassitude burst with the suddenness of a pricked bubble. In its place, horror and guilt threatened to overwhelm him, as well they should.

He stared at the wolf’s paw that sat where his hand should be. His heart pounded even harder than it had when he ...  _ No! Light forgive me! I am a man, not a wolf! A man! _

He focused his will with a desperation to match his anguished thoughts. He became himself again, a muscular man with suntanned skin. Hairy yes, but only hairy in the way that human men were hairy. Not a beast.  _ I’m not! _ He fell back from Raye’s kneeling form, his cock popping out of her soiled sex. He was relieved to see it was his normal cock and not—Perrin’s hands snapped down to cover his crotch in sudden shame. The pale globes of Raye’s ass were red from the pounding he had given them; he saw pungent wolf come begin leaking out of Raye’s pink hole before he turned his reddened face away. His shame was overwhelming.

Rand-as-Raye groaned in what he was sure was pain as she sat back on her heels. Her torn dress fell down to cover her hips and bottom, but not her white shoulders, so much daintier than the real Rand’s broad and muscular ones.

“It was back to Emond’s Field I expected to go,” she said, with a soft, and not very girlish, snort. “Not back to this.”

Perrin flinched. “I’m sorry,” he grated. “I’m going.”

Raye looked over her shoulder at him with Rand’s eyes. “Already? Wh—”

Perrin fled. He fled from her—from him—from the person he’d known and loved, in one way or another, for most of his life. He fled from the wolf dream. But he could not flee from himself. And that was the bitterest truth he knew.

He opened his eyes to the dim light of dying coals on the mountainside. Gaul was squatting just beyond the edge of the light, watching the night. In the other camp, Zarine was up, taking her turn at guard. The moon hung above the mountains, turning the clouds to pearly shadows. Perrin estimated he had been asleep two hours.

Grimacing, he turned onto his side and pulled the blanket up over his head. Some stupid, boyish part of him felt he could hide from what he’d done that way. He couldn’t. Perrin doubted Rand would ever forgive him for what had happened. He doubted he’d ever forgive himself, especially not for how much he’d enjoyed it.

Perrin was hard under the blanket. That seemed odd. Not the hardness itself—that was a common occurrence when he woke up—but the fact that he was hard now, so soon after sating his sick lust. Instead of the usual relaxed feeling he had after coming he was ... edgy, frustrated. As though he hadn’t come in a long time. It was disconcerting, but a minor thing compared to his other woes.

However little time had passed, he knew he’d get no further sleep that night. “I’ll keep guard awhile,” he said, tossing off his cloak. Gaul nodded and settled himself on the ground where he was. “Gaul?” The Aiel raised his head. “It may be worse in the Theren than I thought.”

“Things often are,” Gaul replied quietly. “It is the way of life.” The Aielman calmly put his head down for sleep.

The wolves might be gone from the Theren, but Perrin was still very much a wolfbrother. He could not afford to relax his self-vigil, nor ever again. And then there was this Slayer. Who was he? What was he? Shadowspawn at the Waygate, ravens in the Mountains of Mist, and this man called Slayer in the Theren. It could not be coincidence, however much he wished it.

He brooded alone for the rest of the night.


	30. Paths Untaken

CHAPTER 27: Paths Untaken

Rand couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt this jittery. It had to have been before Falme at the least. He’d thought all of his fear and nervousness had been burnt out of him there. After all, what could be worse than knowing you were destined to rot alive, go mad, and kill everyone you cared about? Yet that strange dream world and the things that had happened in it the night before still shook him.

“You’re going already?” Erith rumbled. “But Elder Alar will want to speak to you when she has finished the discussion. And you only just got here.” She was an Ogier with long black hair and big brown eyes. Still a mere slip of a girl by Ogier standards, she was, by human standards, old enough to be Rand’s great-grandmother, and towered over him as though he was still a child. Somehow than never ceased to tickle him, no matter how much time he spent in Loial’s company. Erith had recognised Rand’s name when she heard of the humans loitering outside the  _ stedding _ , and come to ask after Loial. Not that she admitted that, of course, but Rand was no longer naive enough to miss her hints.

“Please pass on my regrets to the Elder. I would love to stay but an urgent task awaits, so I must rush. You know how we humans get,” Rand exaggerated.

He stuffed his blanket into his saddlebag, keeping half an eye on the path leading to the  _ stedding _ . No matter how much the Ogier liked to talk things over before making a decision, it would still be best if they left as soon as possible. The Shienaran armsmen took their cue from him and packed with haste.

“So Loial won’t be coming to join you then,” Erith said with poorly concealed disappointment. A hint on anger crossed her face. “You said you were going to take care of him.”

_ I can barely take care of myself _ , was what Rand wanted to say. “He’s my friend,” was what he said though, “we take care of each other. I saw him only a few days ago and he was perfectly well then. He’s started writing a book, in fact.”

Erith looked impressed, or at least that’s what Rand took the widening of her eyes and the twitching of her long ears to mean. “Really? He never told me he wanted to write. Not that he ever said that much to me at all, mind. Is he shy? He seemed shy.”

_ Not exactly. He was just worried people would realise he’d run away from home _ , Rand didn’t say. His mouth hung open as he wondered whether it was right for him to say anything at all. It wasn’t his business really, and Loial might not thank him for it. But in the end, he said it anyway. “Loial uses that flower you gave him as his bookmark. He had it pressed and waxed, to preserve it.”

Erith blushed rosily. “Oh. Really? That’s ... That’s nice.” She made a sudden buzzing sound; Rand had to blink repeatedly before he realised she was giggling.

It made him miss Arwen. He hadn’t known her long, but she had been good company. And the thrill of exploring new things was always welcome. He hadn’t really noticed how pretty Erith was on his first meeting with her but he did now. If she and Loial ended up getting as close as they both seemed to want, he hoped she would treat his friend well. He already knew Loial would treat her well.

Rand finished fixing his bow in place and took hold of Blackwing’s cantle. “Well Erith, it’s been a pleasure to see you again but I have to run. Is there anything you’d like me to tell Loial when I see him?”

Erith fiddled with her fingers for a while before answering. “Just tell him I was asking about him, and that he should take good care of himself,” she said at last.

“I will. Take care,” Rand said. He swung up into the saddle. A quick check showed that Izana was the last to be ready. The loss of his armour made the slender man seem younger somehow. It also made him nervous. In his haste to finish, he fumbled the cinch on his saddle twice over before finally getting it right. Rand waited patiently.

Erith walked with them part of the way, before giving him a cheery wave and turning for home. He returned the gesture but his thoughts were already drawn to the ordeal ahead; and in thinking of that he could not help but think of the “ordeal” of the night before. He’d gained a familiarity with a woman’s body that he could never have imagined having ever since he learned of his other self. That Raye was able to climax so many times in succession was almost a miracle to Rand. It was also an inspiration. He hadn’t gotten much sleep, between the difficulty he had in leaving the dream world, and the amount of time he spent lying awake dwelling on the things he’d let Perrin do to ... Him? Her? Them?

Rand was so preoccupied that he almost missed the Portal Stone. “We’re here, my Lord Dragon,” Rikimaru said. A startled glance behind showed the handsome Shienaran sitting his horse with the carved grey pillar looming in the distance, sheltering under its beech tree. The same tree Raye had sheltered under when ... Rand tossed his head, and told himself it was only annoyance at himself for riding past his destination that made his face feel so hot.

“Thanks, Rikimaru. I was wool-gathering,” he said gruffly.

Taking a firmer hold of Blackwing’s reins that was needed, Rand turned him towards the Portal Stone.  _ A man throwing a ball _ , he reminded himself. He doubted that the people who’d made the Portal Stones had meant for that sign to resemble such a thing but he was thankful for it, since it made it easy to spot the sigil Lanfear claimed would take him to the Mountains of Mist. He dismounted near the Stone and handed Blackwing’s reins to Inukai, then went to seek out the second sigil he needed.  _ A triangle in a circle ... There _ .

“Okay. Once more and we’re done,” Rand muttered. He raised his voice to tell the others to gather close, though he hardly needed to. They were already practically at his shoulder. Shaking his head to try and dispel his tiredness, Rand seized  _ saidin _ and channelled at the Portal Stone just as he had before.

And once more, the world flickered around him, and was gone.

Rand had only vague memories of his father but he left flowers on his graveside every year on the anniversary of his death. He was only six when the fever took him, not old enough to remember if things had been easier then.

His mother, Kari, was a lovely woman but no farmer. She’d grown up in a city far away from the Theren. Rand didn’t know why she had left it to come here, except that she had loved his father and this was where Tam lived. He only knew about the nameless city because she would mutter about it bitterly sometimes, when the work around the farm grew particularly hard. She never took her bitterness out on Rand though, no matter how much she struggled.

With just the two of them, the farm soon fell into disrepair. Times grew hard for the al’Thors; they were never able to produce enough wool or cider to sell in Emond’s Field, and sometimes they even found themselves struggling to produce enough food to keep themselves alive.

Rand grew up tall and thin. And alone. He shared his mother’s red hair and grey eyes, something which forever marked them both as outsiders in the Theren, where everyone else had hair of brown and eyes the same. He blamed that for Kari’s isolation, and the lack of friends she had. Rand was convinced that if they only knew her the way he did they would love her, as he did. As he shared her colouring, so he shared her stigma. When he was a boy they had gone to town together, but as he grew older he would venture into Emond’s Field alone, on the rare occasions he went at all. Kari didn’t like it when he was away so long. She would grow frantic with worry.

She grew thin with it too. He remembered a time when her face had been fuller and less lined. He remembered a time when she would venture beyond the farm’s boundaries as well, but that time passed when Rand was still in the midst of his last growth spurt, and he did not know how to bring her back to the way she had been.

So he worked the farm alongside her. Neither mother nor son had been taught how to manage a farm but they muddled through together. It was the only life he knew and he would have been content with it.

Kari was not. Sometimes she wouldn’t get out of bed until it was High, even when there was a mountain of chores to do. Usually Rand would let her rest, but one day he grew worried about her absence and came in from the fields to check on her. It was a particularly warm summer that year, his fifteenth. Sweat plastered his worn shirt to his chest but he didn’t bother to wash off; he’d be back out in it soon enough, he thought.

He found Kari awake but still lying in bed, hugging her pillow to her cheek and staring listlessly at nothing. “Mom? Are you oaky?” he said uncertainly.

Kari sighed. “I’m fine, dear,” she lied.

Rand sat on the bed and touched her forehead. There were streaks of grey in the loose red hair he had to brush out the way to check her.

Kari shivered at his touch, though she didn’t feel feverish to him. She stared at him, first at his face and then at the sweat-soaked shirt that clung to his chest. Rand didn’t know what to do to help her. He’d just have to hope that the few herbal remedies he’d learned from her would be enough.

A wan smile crossed Kari’s face and, wordlessly, she pushed down the covers of her bed, exposing her naked breasts to her teenage son. They were lovely, pale things, tipped in pink, and they slumped across her chest in a way that promised they would be sinfully soft to the touch.

Rand gaped. He’d never seen a woman’s naked body before. His body reacted immediately, making his heart pound against his ribs and his young cock strain against his suddenly too tight drawers.

Kari noticed. “Do you like the way mamma looks, Rand?”

He swallowed hard. Stunned, he could think of no answer except to nod.

“You don’t think me old, or ugly? Worn out and useless?”

“Of course not! You’re beautiful, mom, you shouldn’t think such things.”

The tears in his mother’s eyes hurt Rand more than any accident on the farm ever had. “I wish I didn’t think those things either,” she whispered. She looked at him desperately. “Could you ... Light forgive me, can you prove it to me, son?”

“I’d do anything for you,” Rand vowed. “What do you want?”

Kari bit her lip. “Take off your clothes, Rand. Get into the bed, and I’ll show you ...”

Blushing, Rand did as she asked. He felt nervous at first, but when he shed his drawers and saw the way Kari stared hungrily at his hard cock he felt a sudden boldness.

“My boy. You’ve gotten so big,” she murmured.

His mother lifted the covers of her bed to invite him in, and in the process displayed for him the soft rippling flesh of her belly; and further down the bright red triangle of hair that matched his own, along with the unfamiliar and utterly fascinating female parts that matched nothing he had ever known. Rand climbed into bed with her eagerly.

He stared into his mother’s eyes, not knowing what to do. But she knew. Kari leaned over and kissed him on the lips. She’d kissed him many times before, but never like this. It was hungry and unrestrained, not a mother’s kiss at all. Rand loved it. He thought she loved it, too. Her passion grew swiftly and soon her tongue was in his mouth and her arms were around him and hands were questing all over his flesh. Rand wanted to touch her like that, too, but didn’t quite dare. It took him a while work up the nerve to squeeze one of her boobs but when he did he found it even softer and smoother than he had imagined. The sound Kari let out when he touched her was so pleased that a proud thrill shot through him.

“Rand. My son,” Kari groaned. “All we have is each other.”

“That’s all we need,” he breathed.

Her smile woke the lines around her eyes and mouth. She looked beautiful to him, and when she threw her leg over his hips and came to straddle him, the thought of resisting never even occurred. Kari took Rand’s hard shaft in her gentle hands and aimed it between her legs. She sank down upon him and let out a loud groan of relief. Wet, smooth heat enveloped Rand’s member, bringing with it the most stunning pleasure he had ever experienced.

“Yes,” his mother moaned. “You’re all I need, my sweet boy.” She began moved her hips up and down, rubbing her flesh along his. It was divine.

Rand came within mere moments. He had no words for that experience, but he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he wanted to do it again.

Kari didn’t seem disappointed at the quickness of his climax. She lay atop him, her breasts squashed against his chest, brushing her fingers through his hair and kissing his lips softly. She waited with patience, but she didn’t have to wait for long. Rand was very young, and very eager. He emptied his balls in his mother’s womb a dozen times over that day, and each time he did she caressed him again, inspiring him, encouraging him, eager for more. They didn’t leave her bed again until the sun was almost set.

They never slept apart again after that, and there was rarely a day that went by in which Rand did not fuck his mother; in the bedroom, the bath, the barn or the field; in her pussy, her mouth, or even her ass. She taught him to use his fingers and his tongue, as well as his manhood, to pleasure her. He’d always loved her, but now he learned to love every part of her in every way he could imagine.

The way his mother’s moods improved after that pleased Rand just as much as the ready access to her body she gave him. Kari still didn’t like to venture beyond the farm’s boundaries, but she no longer seemed as miserable at the isolation as she had been. Not usually anyway. There were times when her dark moods would return and she would look at Rand guiltily. Then she would ask him to be rough with her. It made him a bit uncomfortable, for the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, but it was what she wanted so he tried to give it to her.

“Do it,” she would demand, after stripping to her skin and bending over. A bed, a table, a haybale, even the sheep trough; it didn’t seem to matter what. The one thing that was constant in those times was the way she’d reach back to part the fleshy cheeks of her bottom, displaying her holes to her wide-eyed and invariably rock hard son. “Fuck my dirty ass.”

He did exactly that of course. How could he not? But always, after pounding his mother’s tight little hole until it was raw, after making her scream in mingled pain and pleasure, after filling her bowels with his hot come, he’d cuddle her in his arms and stroke her greying hair, murmuring his regard and trying to bring back the happy woman that he so loved.

Kari never refused him, nor he her. Sometimes, when she was preparing their dinner in the kitchen, he would come up behind her and lift her skirt. She wouldn’t really stop her work, just step out of her underwear when he pulled them down. He loved the pale, soft cheeks of her bottom and the way she laughed when she called him a bad boy, that soft laugh that told him she didn’t mean it. He’d knead her flesh as she kneaded the dough for their bread, then stick his cock in her wet hole and fuck her furiously until his come spurted into her pussy.

Other times she wanted him to take it slow. Whenever she got bored, she would venture out of the house to find him at his chores. A touch of her hand was all it took to get him to drop his tools, and his trousers, too. Many a day found him lying atop his spread-legged mother out in the field, stroking her inner depths for her, deep and slow, cradling her in his arms and kissing her mouth, while the sun shone overhead and their confused sheep stared at them. “I love you, mama,” he’d moan as he came inside her and always she would answer, “I love you, too, Rand.”

Rand always did what his mother said. Even when she told him to ignore the wolves that kept watching him from the trees, or creeping into their house to lurk under the table or the bed. She wanted him to pretend they weren’t real, so he did, even though the way they stared made his skin feel as though it was melting. She knew they were real though, whatever she insisted on saying. He could tell from the fearful way she would look at the burns their gaze left all over his body.

The burns never went away, but neither did Kari. No matter how badly they scarred Rand she never lost her desire for him. But then, they were all each other had.

He never loved anything more in life than listening to his mother moan in pleasure as he knelt behind her, pounding away at her sweet pussy.

He never cried harder in life then on the morning he woke to find her cold in their bed. She wouldn’t wake up, no matter what he tried to do, and eventually he was forced to accept the truth. The mother who had also been, for all intents and purposes, his wife, was dead.

He buried her beside Tam, feeling almost as if he was burying himself, too.

Rand didn’t know what to do without her. That isolated farm was the only world he knew, so he stayed on it for the rest of his days, alone.

There came a night when he woke from his cold bed to the sight of the Westwood burning. There were fires as far as the eye could see, and strange, dark shapes—vaguely human but with the faces of animals—were carrying the torches that he suspected had spread the flames. He had no idea what they were, or why they marched towards his farm. But somehow he knew, before they had even noticed him, that death had come.

Its voice was almost familiar.  _ You lose again, Lews Therin _ .

Flicker.

Raye al’Thor didn’t much care for the Black Tower and its Aes Sedai, but that’d didn’t mean she enjoyed seeing them leashed by the Seanchan and their  _ sul’dam _ . She’d have gladly led her armies against the Seanchan Empire if not for the more pressing need to prepare for Tarmon Gai’don.

The need for peace enforced the need for compromise, bitter as it was. So she sent her old friend Matti Cauthon as her ambassador, with instructions to speak to the Seanchan leaders and arrange a meeting where Raye and the Emperor’s representative could discuss the terms of a ceasefire.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. The Seanchan were monstrous in many ways but they did value honour, or at least their own warped interpretation of the concept.

But when Matti did not return from Ebou Dar, Raye’s already flashfire-hot tempter flared hotter than ever. The first prisoners her warriors brought her during the campaign she launched against the Empire claimed that some Seanchan prince had taken a liking to Matti and was keeping her as his sexslave. Raye had the prisoners executed and gave orders to take no more.

All across southern Valgarda her armies and those of the Seanchan clashed in bitter, bloody war. The invaders were great soldiers and inflicted heavy casualties on Raye’s forces but her victories far eclipsed her defeats.

She personally commanded the army that sacked Tanchico, last stronghold of the Seanchan Empire on this side of the Aryth Ocean. But as she stood before the smoking ruins of the Panarch’s Palace, her lieutenants brought her bitter news. The Seanchan prince had fled to sea, and he had taken Matti with him. Raye cursed the man’s name, stricken by the torment she imagined her friend suffering at his hands.

For a mad moment she considered chasing the Seanchan all the way back to their homeland, but she didn’t need her advisors’ horrified objections to know that was a bad idea. Tarmon Gai’don still awaited. She only prayed that the forces of the Light that remained on Valgarda would be enough to see them to victory there, too.

Her prayers were in vain. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers had lost their lives in the war against the Seanchan Empire. Hundreds of thousands more fell to the Shadow’s hordes before Raye and the few of her allies that remained alive were driven back to Caemlyn. It was there that she died, fighting on as blood streamed down her side from the old wound, fighting on ‘til her last breath. And with that long exhalation, almost in harmony with it, there came a strange whisper;  _ you lose again, Louise Therin _ .

Flicker

Rand gritted his teeth. “No. Not again.”

Flicker.

The Aes Sedai were unfazed by the Shadowspawn raid on Fal Dara keep. Even the severed heads on the table of the guardroom had not merited more than a cool glance. They argued on, but Rand was too worried about his friends to pay Moiraine or Liandrin much heed. He’d already lost Anna, he couldn’t bear to lose another one.

So he turned away from the Aes Sedai and strode further into the dungeon where Padan Fain had been held.  _ Light send he’s still here _ . Awkwardly shoving back the bolts on the inner door, he pulled it open. “Egwene came down here,” he announced for anyone who cared, and went in, holding his lamp high. His knees kept wanting to give way; he was not sure how he stayed on his feet, only that he had to find Egwene. “Egwene!”

He hastened down the stone corridor. When his light finally reached the end of the cells, he found the door to Fain’s cell standing open. The cell was empty, but it was the two shapes on the stone in front of the cell that made Rand leap forward. Egwene and Mat lay sprawled bonelessly, unconscious ... or dead. He ran to them and fell to his knees at their side.

One look at Mat told the story. And one look was all Rand could bear. “Burn you, Fain,” he choked, “No death could be too cruel for you.” Mat’s dagger, the cursed blade he’d taken from Shadar Logoth, was gone from his belt. And the one who had taken it had cut him with the blade before leaving. The only comfort Rand could find, as he knelt before his friend’s twisted, blackened corpse, was the recollection of how fast the last person he’d seen cut with that blade had died. As comforts went, it was a thin and pitiful thing.

As thin as Egwene’s foolish hope that Fain might prove repentant and return to the Light. That was why she and Mat were down here. She’d wanted to help Fain, and talked Mat into coming with her. The girl in question lay on her side now. No longer willing to hope, Rand reached out and shook her shoulder gently. “Egwene?” Her flesh was not blackened as Mat’s had been. Yet Rand tore his eyes away from her just as quickly as he had from him, for he could see much more of that flesh that he should have, here in this place, in these circumstances.

Egwene stared at the stone wall of the dungeon with a deadness to her eyes that he had never seen before. Her dressed was ripped down the front, and someone had clawed her young breasts savagely enough to draw blood. The smell of come was heavy in the enclosed space. She said nothing in response to Rand’s words, or his touch. She barely even breathed.

“Do not move them.” Moiraine did not sound upset, or even surprised.

The chamber was suddenly flooded with light as the two Aes Sedai entered. Each balanced a glowing ball of cool light, floating in the air above her hand.

Liandrin marched straight down the middle of the wide hall, holding her skirts up out of the straw with her free hand. “There is nothing to do for the one,” she said, “and the other can wait.”

Fury rose in Rand. Fain was its rightful target, but the Aes Sedai and their callous disregard for the suffering they had brought upon his people were a welcome second choice. “Two dead now!” he spat, glaring up at Moiraine. “Two dead and ... and this! I wish you’d never come to Emond’s Field.”

A brief, chill silence followed his outburst before Liandrin turned to Moiraine and said, “You will punish this one for his arrogance and disrespect, yes? I will do it myself, if you do not.”

Voices suddenly came from the outer room, men exclaiming in disgust and anger.

“In here,” Moiraine called without taking her eyes off the Red sister. “Bring two litters. Quickly.” Someone in the outer room raised a cry for litters.

Rand’s shoulders slumped. “I told her not to come here. I told her he was dangerous.”

“Such arrogance!” Liandrin exclaimed. “To tell a woman, even a kitten like this one, what to do? This one, he thinks much too highly of himself. Me, I think I will have no choice but to deal with him. It is obvious you have not been doing as you should, Moiraine.”

“There is a time for talk, and a time for silence, Rand. This is the latter,” Moiraine said, perfectly composed, her face giving away nothing of her thoughts.

But Rand was past caring what she thought, and he wasn’t the only one. He and Perrin made their escape the next night, with Loial and Nynaeve’s help. They took Egwene with them, though they had to carry her on a litter for she would not respond to any of them, not even Nynaeve.

Despite their burden and their unfamiliarity with the Shienaran terrain, the Theren folk made good time in their flight south. He thought they might have outrun the Aes Sedai and the Shadow both, until the day came when he woke to find Loial dead.

There were no marks on his body, and even Nynaeve could not say what had killed the young Ogier. Perrin took it especially hard; he had been on watch, and swore that nothing had gotten past him, yet there Loial lay, cold and unresponsive; like Egwene, but more so. Not knowing what the Ogier custom was, they buried him like a Therener. That seemed fitting to Rand. He’d buried a lot of Thereners in the past months.

They already suspected that they were being stalked by something evil and unnatural. Rand had not needed confirmation, and by the Light he had not wanted it. Not like that. His grief cut at his throat like the sharpest of razors when he laid Nynaeve in her grave, a mere two days after Loial had been killed. He had thought himself squeezed dry of tears but he wept so hard for the Wisdom that he could barely see.

Perrin stopped sleeping after that. He muttered constantly about the smell. “Wrong,” he’d say. “It’s all wrong.” The suspicion with which he kept glaring at Rand—and even the unconscious Egwene—was even more surprising than the sudden change of eye colour he’d recently had.

They nearly came to blows over it. “Of course there’s something wrong with her!” Rand exclaimed angrily when he stepped between Perrin and the girl. “How can there not be after what happened? But she’ll get better, she just needs time.”

“No. It’s wrong! Can’t you smell it?” Perrin growled.

“Smell what?” he scoffed. “Why do you keep going on about smells lately?”

Perrin wouldn’t answer, but it wasn’t long afterwards that he announced his intention to leave. They could disappear in the woods, he claimed. But they’d have to leave Egwene behind. Rand refused to go with him, not on those terms. The last time he saw Perrin, the former blacksmith’s apprentice was on foot, running through the forest while hunched over, as though he wanted to go to all fours.

The passage south became harder with just Rand and Egwene left. Bela dragged Egwene’s litter behind her but they were forced to avoid any rough terrain, and with no-one to keep watch or help prepare meals Rand soon grew exhausted.

He tried his best to stay awake that night, huddled around their small campfire, but when he saw the fog he was sure he was dreaming. It was far too warm for fog, for one thing, and for another, fog did not gather in one small place like that. So when Egwene rose up from her litter like a marionette being lifted by a puppeteer, Rand only stared dully. She hunched over, her dark hair falling before her, and her eyes were as dull and lifeless as they had been ever since Fain raped her.

Alarm grew slowly in Rand as she shuffled towards him. He was very familiar with bad dreams but something about this felt all too real. He got to his feet and backed away from the girl, his hands gripping the long hilt of Tam’s sword. “Egwene? Is that you?”

She opened her mouth but no words came out, only a thick, faintly glowing fog.

Still backpedalling, Rand drew the sword. “Stay away!”

Egwene either didn’t hear his warning or didn’t care. She advanced on him, unarmed and clad only in her plain wool dress. He raised his sword as though to strike off her head ... and held the pose. He couldn’t hurt her, not her.

“Egwene. Talk to me, please,” Rand said in a shaky voice. “What can I do to help? Whatever it is, I’ll do it, but I need to know first.”

The hand with which she touched his face was icy cold. He felt it draw the heat from his flesh and realised too late that it was drawing the life from him as well. “Mordeth knows,” something vile used Egwene’s lips to whisper. Something else whispered, too, as bad or worse as his killer. Y _ ou lose again, Lews Therin _ .

Flicker.

“I won’t let you—”

Flicker.

Raye had seen many strange things in her journey across Falmerden and Valreis. Yet that didn’t stop her from staring when they came upon a small campfire burning by the side of the dirt road and found its sole occupant to be a white-haired old man. He was well dressed, as though he was a nobleman or a prosperous merchant, but surely such a man would not be travelling alone, especially not out in the wilderness like this. Raye had learned wariness early in her flight from the Theren and that wariness had served her well so far. But for it, she might have been fooled by that handsome and flirtatious woodsman, Nyte, who’d turned out to be a Darkfriend spy. The old man smiled at the sight of their party, rose from his camp chair and went to stand in the middle of the path, waiting patiently for them to approach.

Morgan and his secretary, the tall and solemn Lana, came to join her at the front, but the stranger spoke before anyone else could.

“Well it took you long enough. Were I a younger man I might have gone chasing after you myself. But age teaches one the value of patience.” He had a rich voice, and there was something almost familiar about it.

“And who are you that seeks us out?” Morgan asked coldly. Raye’s guards drew close.

The man ignored Morgan. His eyes rested on Raye and he smiled knowingly. She felt a familiar chill wash over her at that smile.  _ There is danger here _ . Heedless of the taint and all that exposure to it entailed, she opened herself to  _ saidar _ . “I have no interest in you, boy. Or these others. I’m here for you, girl. The young Phoenix. You and a certain renegade.”

“Who are you?” Raye demanded.

“Asha’gwapanar,” he answered.

“Forsaken,” Morgan hissed. His hands rose and a bright fire blossomed between them, but Asha’gwapanar merely smirked. A dismissive wave of his hand caused Morgan’s fire to wink out, and the Aes Sedai was thrown from his saddle by an invisible force.

Raye and her companions threw everything they had at the elderly Forsaken, but it was not enough. One by one they fell, until it was only her and the former Wise Man of Emond’s field, Niven, left standing.

The Forsaken gave Niven an appraising look. “You have potential, boy. You might even come close to my own strength some day. But you are painfully ignorant.” He touched a finger to one of his silver rings and suddenly Niven began to scream, clutching his head. He fell to his knees and began rolling on the floor, still screaming hoarsely.

“What did you do to him, damn you!?” Raye snarled.

Asha’gwapanar turned his attention upon her. “But if he is painfully ignorant, how much worse are you, Louise Therin? Especially in comparison to what you once were. I don’t think my  _ valdarhei _ would even have been needed for this. Pitiful, girl. Truly pitiful.”

Invisible bonds wrapped around Raye’s body, and she found herself dragged forward. A sudden blinding pain in her head cost her control of  _ saidar _ and when she reached for it again she found ... something blocking it off from her. Like a sudden ceiling where once there had been only the vast sky. She came to a halt before Asha’gwapanar, struggling helplessly against his power.

As she stared into the old man’s amber eyes, she wracked her brain for a way out. There had to be a trick, a move, a power she could invoke. It couldn’t end like this. But Raye could think of nothing that would let her overcome Asha’gwapanar.

“You lose for once, Louise Therin,” the Forsaken said. Raye’s heart almost stopped at that near-echo of the old refrain. Asha’gwapanar continued, uncaring of her dismay. “But I do not see my other target. Where is young Nyte? He’s been a very disobedient boy.”

“I don’t know,” she said. She’d heard a rumour that might have concerned the Darkfriend, but no more than that. She hadn’t exactly been searching for him.

Asha’gwapanar showed his teeth in what was not a smile. “You used to be better at lying, Louise Therin. I want the boy. He has won my anger and will suffer for it. Tell me where he is, and I may consider sparing some of these friends of yours.”

Raye licked suddenly dry lips. “I haven’t seen him in weeks. I don’t know where he is.”

“Then tell me his last known location!” Asha’gwapanar demanded. “Come now, Louise Therin. The boy is  _ Atha’an Shadar _ , a Darkfriend as you call them. That alone should be enough to condemn him. His life in exchange for these others? It should be an easy decision. Tell me where he is.”

“True enough,” Raye muttered. Darkfriends deserved no mercy. If there was even a small chance that turning Nyte over to his masters would save one of her friends, then she would do it gladly. “He’s in Tanservilla,” she said, “hiding from the cost of serving the Dark One.”

The Forsaken studied her for a very long moment. “That is good to know ... Phoenix,” he said at last, with a small sigh. “Now close your eyes.”

Raye had often been told she was a stubborn woman. She kept her eyes wide open, staring defiantly at the Forsaken as he gathered  _ saidin _ to deal the killing blow. She did not scream when his fire lanced out to pierce her heart, but though she died wordlessly, she died with those most hated of words echoing through her mind.  _ You lose again, Louise Therin _ .

Flicker.

They had come to Shadar Logoth from the south, so when Rand got separated from his friends he turned Cloud northwards, fleeing through the cursed city. Mashadar reached its foggy tendrils for him and Trollocs hounded his trail but he kept up his wild flight, kept it up until he reached the fallen gates of Shadar Logoth, that which was once Aridhol. His flight only slowed when, galloping through the woods, he became aware of Cloud’s laboured breathing. He knew that if he didn’t slow he would kill the horse, so he fed his fear to the flame, as Tam had taught him, and pulled on the reins.

He was alone but he refused to believe his friends were dead. Moiraine had said to meet up by the river to the south, and he tried to heed her words. The Trolloc bands that prowled the woods made it impossible. Rand was forced to flee northwards, ever northwards. Every time he thought he had lost them they seemed to show up again, as though they had his scent. He scavenged for food, never stopping for long, while his clothes grew threadbare and his beard thick. He’d never grown a beard before—Theren men were taught to shave from a young age—but the circumstances left little room for proprieties.

Days became weeks and weeks became months, and in all that time Rand never saw another living human. He saw Shadowspawn though, he saw enough Shadowspawn to last a lifetime. One would have been enough for that! Sometimes Cloud’s swift feet were enough to keep them alive, and sometimes he was forced to fight the Trollocs in order to escape. When he did fight, it was with savage cunning. He’d had little training in swordplay, but his father’s sword was razor sharp and cared little for the skill of its wielder. A clumsy hack to a Trolloc’s neck, launched from behind while it was looking at Cloud’s tethered form and licking its lips, was just as deadly as Lan’s precise and graceful blows had been.

Eventually his wild flight brought him to another great river, narrower here than the Arindrelle had been back near Shadar Logoth, but still wide enough to make the prospect of swimming it chancy for both man and horse. Thankfully, he was never obliged to make the attempt.

The army arrayed before that river was as strange as anything Rand had ever seen. There were more horseriders than he had imagined the world could contain, some carrying short, curved swords and equally short—but more bizarre, to Rand’s Therener eyes—equally curved bows. Those men wore beards and moustaches as thick as his own had grown, though theirs were much cleaner and neater. Even stranger were the men who armoured their horses just as heavily as they armoured themselves. Those ones kept their jaws clean-shaven, for the most part, but every man of them had shorn his head right down to the skull, save for a little ponytail right at the top.

His relief at seeing human faces after so long, even ones as unfamiliar as theirs, was multiplied when they fell on his Shadowspawn pursuers and slaughtered every last one of them.

The army, he would later learn, fought under the banners of Shienar and Saldaea and was commanded by a certain Lord Agelmar. The men who told him seemed to expect Rand to know that name, and got offended when he asked them to explain why. When they demanded to know how so many Shadowspawn had gotten past the Blightborder and why they were chasing him, Rand could not, in all honesty, answer. That didn’t satisfy them but they were still kind enough to give him food and allow one of the Healers who marched with their army to come and see to the many wounds he’d picked up on his long flight.

That was when he met her, the girl of his dreams. She was the Healer’s apprentice and her daughter, too, as he would later learn. Her eyes were midnight pools, her hair long and glossy and black as ink, her skin as pale as snow. They were of an age, and while it was her beauty that first drew his eye, it was her kindness that won his heart.

“I’m Hinato, Hi!” she greeted him cheerfully, that first day. “I hear you eat a ton, Master al’Thor.”

Rand, who had a mouth full of stew at the time, did not respond. He’d been filling himself with everything he could get his hands on since the Borderlanders dealt with his Trolloc pursuers. He’d barely even been paying attention to the Healer who attended his wounds, though he was partially aware of her concerned muttering over how many of them had gotten infected. They itched abominably, and stank as bad, but he’d had other concerns then. The sight of that clean and pretty girl politely pretending not to notice what a mess he was recalled him to some manner of civility.

He swallowed his stew noisily before responding in a voice that had grown scratchy from disuse. “I-I’m sorry, miss. I’ve been ... on the run ... for some time.”

“I believe you; I’m surprised you can walk!” she said kindly, then grew stern when he tried to rise from the bed. “Come on, now. You should lie down. They said it wouldn’t be strange if you had died.” Her mother nodded absentmindedly at that. “How did you get so many Shadowspawn mad at you?”

Rand sighed. He’d answered that question already, but none of the askers had liked his answers. But when he related his tale to Hinato, she only nodded in acceptance.

“Is that so ... You did well to survive so long against them, and with no training at all.”

“Thank you. I was very lucky,” he breathed. He was suddenly tired, or sleepy more aptly—he could barely remember a time when he had not been tired. Feeling safe in the Healers’ care, Rand let his eyes drift close.

It was more than a full day before he opened them again. He found himself on a swaying litter, held between two tall horses. The partially-shaven men who rode them were looking down at him curiously. Rand could have happily gone back to sleep, but stubbornness made him sit up and hop down from the litter. The army was on the move, he saw. He was surrounded by thousands of soldiers and their support, all of them heading east. For lack of anything else to do, he went with them.

When they stopped for the evening, Rand sought out any groups of soldiers who were sparring and asked to join. The need to know how to use the sword Tam had given him had been made painfully clear to him in the past months. He drew a crowd when he squared off against a one-eyed man named Uno. The watching eyes made him uncomfortable but he was at least glad to spot Hinato among them.

“Looks like everyone’s curious about the newcomer’s skills,” she said, and he saw that same curiosity in her eyes.

“Is it because of the heron? It’s not mine, not really. The sword belonged to my father,” he explained. Then he proved the truth of his words by getting thoroughly thrashed by Uno.

He trained with the soldiers whenever he could after that, as the army moved through Shienar.

Rand didn’t realise the severity of their troubles at first. He was an outsider in their mist, and Hinato was his only friend. He thought perhaps she felt sorry for him, because she always seemed to find him when the army stopped its progress for the day. She also tried her best to instruct him in Shienaran customs, and wasn’t shy about saying, “You’re showing bad manners, Rand!” or “You should always use a noble’s title when speaking to or of them.” Rand didn’t much like that last, but he also didn’t want to upset her, so he went along with it.

It was as they approached a walled city she named as Fal Dara that Rand learned the extent of their peril. Lines of people, some mounted, some on wagon, more on foot, streamed out of the city’s tall gates, heading south. It was the way of things, Hinato told him calmly, as she rode at his side. If the army failed to hold at Tarwin’s Gap then at least the Shienarans would survive, even if Shienar itself fell. For all the calmness of her voice, she looked even paler than usual. When he asked her when the battle would be fought, she told him it would probably be the day after tomorrow.

“My family was from Fal Dara originally,” she said, gazing sadly at the tall, stern walls. “You can stay over at our place for at least a night. My granny will want to meet you, Rand.”

“She will? Why?” he said, confused.

Hinato looked shy of a sudden. “Well, you are the famous outlander who fought off a dozen fists of Trollocs. W-why else would she want to meet you?”

Rand shifted in his saddle. “Famous? For running away really well?”

“You did well to survive. Don’t underestimate yourself!” she urged with a smile.

It was the first time a woman had ever said such a thing to him. Rand resolved there and then to fight with the army that was defending Shienar.

Hinato was true to her word and let Rand stay with her family while the army resupplied. He was glad to meet them, and gladder to have the chance to spend more time with her. The chance at a proper bath was welcome, too, though he decided to keep the beard. He’d gotten used to it.

Rand didn’t think he’d be able to meet with Lord Agelmar, but he might be able to get in to see one of his vassals. That Lord Ingtar fellow, for example. He’d never volunteered to join an army before, but he imagined it would involve talking to a lord of some kind. He was on his way to do just that when Hinato caught him at the door.

“Where are you going? I’ve made lunch, you know!” she said, jaw set in annoyance.

“I was just going to speak to one of the lords about joining the army,” he explained, before the smells emanating from the kitchen reached his nose. “That does smell good though ... Maybe ... Maybe it could wait a while longer, Hinato.” Her smile was much brighter than he thought such a small thing deserved.

She and her mother rode with the army to Tarwin’s Gap, as did Rand, now clad in the cumbersome armour of a Shienaran soldier. Despite the weight of his plate, and the heron-marked sword hanging from his hip, it was his bow in which Rand placed his faith. He’d crafted as many arrows as he could in preparation for this clash.

It was not enough.

The Shienaran and Saldaean armies fought heroically, all but plugging the wide mountain valley with Trolloc dead, but the Shadow’s horde seemed endless. Rand ran out of arrows while the sun was still high in the sky and mounted Cloud to go join the men on the front lines. Thrice their lines seemed about to break under Trolloc charges, and thrice they rallied beneath the White Hart banner of Queen Kensin, who rode with the troops, armed and armoured, shouting commands from within her open helm. But they could not rally on the fourth attempt.

From afar, Rand saw Lord Agelmar pulled from his horse. He and the men who rushed to surround him were soon buried beneath a wave of Trolloc flesh. Kensin’s personal guard all but dragged her from the field as the soldiers of the Borderlands struggled to re-establish their discipline in the face of when seemed a hundred thousand baying, half-human monsters.

Perhaps he should have fallen back as well, but Rand was sick of seeing good people suffer at the hands of these ... things. So he stood against them with his father’s sword in his hands and a luck that seemed almost uncanny on his side. A dozen times over he thought he was about to die, only for a blade to skitter off his armour or a stray arrow to send his opponent to its knees. Even so, he had no choice but to give ground, such were the numbers arrayed against them. He gave it slowly though, and the Borderlanders around him did the same. The army was withdrawing in defeat, but not in rout.

Rand knew his luck could not last forever, but he still screamed in pain when a scythe-like Trolloc sword found a gap in his battered armour and stabbed into his left side. The experience gained on his flight from Shadar Logoth served him well then; he grabbed the Trolloc’s arm, holding it and its sword in place and leaving its throat open to his counterstroke. The beast fell, but Rand fell with it.

As he sighed out his pain, he thought he heard someone else sigh in time with him.  _ You lose again, Lews Therin _ , it seemed to say. Oddly, it almost sounded like him.

Its weary resignation was silenced by another’s impassioned cry.

“But ... Rand is still alive! Rand!”

He turned his heard, but could not see her. “Run, Hinato!” he called. “Go with the others.”

Lying there, dying, Rand was sure she would heed him. She was a sensible girl. She would make a wonderful wife for some lucky man, someday. He was wrong about at least one of those things.

When he heard her voice again, sounding so close, he thought it another trick of his imagination. So he only blinked in confusion when someone fell to their knees at his side and began pulling at the straps of his helm.

“Hold on, Rand. Just hold on,” Hinato said, running her eyes over his wounds.

“Hinato? What are you doing? Get away from here! It’s too dangerous!” he grated, trying to force himself up. There were pockets of men and Trollocs all around them, fighting, dying. If even one of the Shadowspawn turned its attention towards the girl ...

“No! I’m not leaving unless you come with me,” she said, as stubbornly as any Theren woman.

“I ... It’s too dangerous. You have to run!” he managed.

“Well then stop being so lazy and get up!” she yelled, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and trying to use her slender body to lever him to his feet. It was such a futile effort, and yet so brave than Rand had no choice but to force his feet under himself and try to stand. Blood was pooling in his boot, and he feared that the only thing keeping his innards in was the armour strapped to his chest and back, but somehow he was able to get to his feet. He clenched his teeth in pain all the while and he was unable to stop himself from groaning loudly, but eventually he stood, his arm across Hinato’s narrow shoulders. Breathing heavily, she led him to her horse and all but pushed him into the saddle.

Rand fled the defeat at Tarwin’s Gap on the back of Hinato’s horse, with the girl herself sat in front on him, using one hand to control the reins while the other locked his arm across her waist. He knew he loved her then, and whispered it to her hair as it streamed behind her and caressed his face.

They were among the last to leave Fal Dara, as the Shadow pushed farther southward into lands that had once belonged to humanity. Rand thought it a miracle that he survived the wound he’d taken, but even more a miracle was the girl who’d saved him.

“I can’t thank you enough, Hinato,” he said, as the preparations to flee the city went on around them, there in the Healers house. “I can’t believe you did that. You’re like some kind of hero out of a story.”

“Oh, no, no. Never mind. I just did what anybody would’ve done,” she said nervously, brushing her hair behind her ear and smiling shyly.

It was to Fal Moran, capital of Shienar, that they fled. Queen Kensin was calling all her remaining forces there, to make a stand. Rand would stand with her, though he did more limping than standing in those days.

Hinato’s mother had quarters in the royal palace, as befitted one of the best Healers in Shienar. Rand expected to stay with the other soldiers in the barracks but Hinato surprised him again. After placing her own things in a tidy little room, she showed him to another, a near twin to the first.

“Rand, if you want ... You can live in this room, it wasn’t used anyway.”

“That’s very kind, Hinato, but I couldn’t intrude on you all like that. You’ve already done so much for me.”

She avoided his eyes, blushing slightly. “I don’t mind. If we live together.”

Come to think of it, that didn’t sound at all unwelcome to him either. “Neither do I,” he said softly, taking a sudden and uncharacteristic interest in the furnishings.

Rand racked his brains for a way to repay her even a little bit, but the best he could come up was a trip to the hot springs of Fal Moran that he’d heard some other Shienarans speaking of. They’d spoken solemnly, like men at a funeral, but their descriptions had left little doubt that once those springs had been far famed.

Hinato got very nervous when he offered to take her there. “L-lodging ... at such a scenic location? It’s hard to believe it’s just for a bath. I-if you’re asking me out, you should just say so ...”

Rand gathered his courage, stunned at how much harder this was than facing Trollocs had been. “Well, what if I am? Would you like to go see the hot springs with me, Hinato?”

Her pale cheeks turned pink, and she bit her lip before answering. “O-okay. I suppose I could do that. I-I just have to go and get ready first.” She ran off towards her room. Once the door had slammed shut behind her, he thought he heard an odd little squeal.

The building that housed the Fal Moran hot spring was doubtlessly beautiful, in stark contrast to the grim and functional edifices that were typical of that land, but Rand had eyes only for the girl at his side. She had chosen to dress in white today, and her dress was as modest as any Shienaran woman’s, but it still left her expressive face exposed and that alone was enough to tease him. With everyone off preparing for either war or evacuation, they had the place to themselves. Sounds echoed oddly in the marble halls, but Rand had little attention to spare for that either.

“This is the first time I’ve seen a hot spring, too,” Hinato said when they entered. “Eh ... I would like to try it out.”

“W-well, of course,” Rand stammered. “W-what else would we be here for?”

Her giggle sounded nearly as nervous as he felt.

He was making sure the towel was securely wrapped around his waist when he heard a scream from the women’s changing rooms. He snatched up his sword and ran barefoot through the marble hallways; the warmth in the air should have been enough to ward off even a winter’s chill but Rand shivered with dread.

When he burst into the room, he found Hinato backed against one wall, glancing about her warily. She had a towel wrapped across her chest, not quite highly enough to cover the tops of her modest breasts, nor lowly enough to hide her slim legs. Despite the fear her face showed, she was unhurt and alone.

“What’s wrong?” Rand demanded. “Shadowspawn?”

She ran over to him and took hold of his arm and shoulder. “There was some weird noise. I feel ill at ease because of it. There also was an odd sound when I was undressing, too.” Before he could frame a response, her noise sounded again, a metallic rumble. “Whoa! Did you hear that? Honestly, I hate it.”

“I don’t think that’s anything to be concerned over,” he said slowly. And a bit reluctantly. He rather liked the way she was clinging to him. It was cute. He decided to tell her as much.

“You know, I never would have imagined you’d be such a scaredy cat. Not that that’s a bad thing, really. It’s kind of cute.”

“I’m not a scaredy cat ...” Hinato said, avoiding his eyes. The little pout she made almost demanded to be kissed away, and Rand had not the heart to deny it.

She gasped in surprise when he leaned down to capture her lips, but it didn’t take long before she was kissing him back. Rand lost track of time, he lost track of everything except the sweetness of Hinato’s lips on his. It was only when she looked down in surprise at what was poking against her that Rand realised he’d lost control of his towel, too, the fabric being nowhere near strong enough to keep his swollen manhood in check.

Hinato stared at him for a long moment before jerking her gaze away, face blazing. Rand tried to get himself decently hidden away again, though it proved difficult.

“R-Rand. Let’s go in together,” Hinato said, still not looking at him. Her little hand sought out his, and she led him off towards the pools.

Despite her blushes and stammers, Hinato shed her towel with confidence, once they reached the edge of the hot spring. When it fell to the ground, he beheld her girlish back and the smooth curves of her waist and hips. It was her bottom than his gaze fixed on though. He hadn’t thought it possible to get harder, but that was yet another thing he was wrong about.  _ So pretty _ . When at last he tore his eyes away from her bum and back up to her face, he found Izana watching him over her shoulder. She looked pleased about something, and there was a smokiness in her dark eyes that he’d never seen there before.

She stepped into the warm water, wreathed in its steam, and then turned around to show him her small breasts with their dark nipples.  _ So beautiful _ , he thought, as she backed away, until the water covered her nakedness.

Rand threw his towel aside and eagerly followed Hinato into the hot spring. He knew the place was intended for cleaning and relaxing, but those were the last things on his mind.

She didn’t resist when he caught her, not even when he crushed her roughly against his chest and sought out her sweet lips once more. Not even when he reached down into the hot water to squeeze her bottom in his hand. She just stood in his embrace, whimpering weakly, encouragingly.

“Hinato,” he breathed. “what should I do? What do you want?”

“Eh ... Y-you are asking me what we should do? H-how should I know what to do ...”

_ She’s a virgin _ , he realised. He was overcome with a sudden tenderness. Despite the lust that assailed him, Rand picked her up and cradled her in his arms. He carried her to the edge of the pool and sat her in his lap.

“I want you so much, Hinato,” he said.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “I’m yours,” she breathed.

He held her hips between his hands and guided her to kneel above him. “And I’m yours.” When she felt his tip brush against her tender folds, Hinato understood.

He watched her face as she slowly descended upon him, savouring every minute flicker of expression that ghosted across it. She gasped when the head of his cock pushed past her entrance, and chewed on her lips as she slid further down his shaft. The heat with which she enveloped him made the hot water that swirled around their hips seem a mere winter pond.

When pain mingled with the pleasure he saw on Hinato’s face, Rand began combing his fingers through her luxurious hair. “It’s okay. Everything will be well. More than well,” he murmured. “I love you, my beautiful Hinato.”

Her smile banished pain. She kissed him deeply then, as she cradled his body within her own.

It was her hips that began rocking first, not his. Rand would have had it no other way. He waited until she was ready for them to move together and let her set the pace, content to savour her kisses and send his hands roving all over her silky skin. When she finally began to move herself up and down his shaft, her sweet moans were more than reward enough for his patience.

“Oh, Light,” she whined. “I never imagined anything could feel so good.”

She started moving faster after that, then faster still, her breath coming in impassioned gasps. After a flattering short time, Hinato’s mouth opened wide and her nails dug into the flesh of his shoulders. The scream she let out then echoed so loudly in the marble hot springs that Rand feared she would draw the guards down on them. Not that he had any intention of stopping making love to her, not unless they were forcibly parted, and even then not without a struggle.

Hinato had gone stiff in his arms when the orgasm struck her, but now she softened, moulding her body to his, her soft breasts and stiff nipples pressing against his chest. “Oh, Rand. I love you, too,” she gasped.

“Do you need to leave?” he half growled. “Because there is so much I want to do to you ...”

Hinato’s already red cheeks reddened further. “Do whatever you want. I told you. I’m yours.”

So he did. He carried her out into the hot water and sent waves crashing through the pool with the force of his thrusts, his hands supporting her back as she floated on the surface, her legs locked around his hips, and the water so close to her gasping mouth that he feared every splash. There was no fear in Hinato however, only a stunning and humbling trust in her lover’s care. The springs washed away her sweat and made her flesh glisten like the stars themselves.

When he could take it no more, Rand pulled her up to face him and kissed her deeply. He took her to the edge of the pool and set her down. Seizing her hips, he forcefully turned her around until once more he could feast on the sight of her pretty little bottom. Izana did not object. Almost instinctually, she bent over and pushed her hips back towards him, offering herself.

He was beyond happy to claim her. She cried out when he thrust his cock back inside her slick pussy, and kept on crying, the pleasured moans coming in time with each eager thrust of his cock.

When his climax descended upon him, Rand let out a howl that dwarfed even the scream Hinato had earlier given. Wracked by pleasure, he was only partially aware of the hand she rubbed furiously across her privates before letting out a scream that at least matched her earlier one. He stayed lodged inside Hinato’s body for a long time, as his come flowed out to fill her womb.

Afterwards they slipped lazily down under the water, letting the hot springs cleanse them of everything except the afterglow of their lovemaking. Even after their breathing had returned to normal, the two still sat in silence, basking in the moment. Rand had thought it a comfortable silence, but perhaps Hinato thought otherwise, for when she spoke at last if was with less playfulness than he’d expected.

“You’d better take responsibility for this,” she said, her warning tone at odds with the sudden wariness in her dark eyes.

Rand blinked at her. It only took a moment to realise what she meant. He thought briefly of Egwene, and the promises that they—or rather, their parents—had made, what seemed a lifetime ago. Then he dismissed that from his mind. He’d never really wanted to marry her anyway. But Hinato ...?

“I love you, Hinato. Will you marry me?” he said, and then silently cursed himself.  _ A girl would want it to be done more romantically than that, you fool sheepherder! _

Hinato’s smile didn’t seem disappointed though. Not at all. “Yes. Yes, I will, Rand!”

The week that followed was the best one of Rand’s life. But it would also prove to be the last.

When the Shadow advanced on Fal Moran, and the Borderlanders gathered to make their stand, Rand of the Theren stood with them.

Hinato was among the last of the civilians to leave the city. She did not try to make Rand go with her, not with words—she was Shienaran, and the war against the Shadow was her way of life—but every time he looked into her eyes or saw a fresh tear leak down her cheek he wondered anew if he should just run. He didn’t run though. For he’d come to realise that that war was his way of life, too.

Hinato’s hands rested protectively across her stomach when he last saw her. They stared silently at each other as the cart carried her away to the safety of the southern lands. Rand still stared at the spot where she had last been, long after the hills had taken her from his view. He found comfort in the thought that nothing would ever be able to take her from his heart.

He died fighting on the streets of Fal Moran, almost a week later, just one soldier among many. As he sprawled on the cobbled streets of the falling capital of the falling nation, he sought out one last memory of Hinato’s lovely face and cheerful voice. Instead, he heard something unknowable, something which whispered nonsense in his ear.  _ You lose again, Lews Therin _ .

Flicker.

“They need me! I will not fail them!”

Flicker.

Raye al’Thor, known to most as the Phoenix Reborn, sat uneasily on her gilded throne. Her armies were strong and her wealth vast, but fear and hate nestled in the hearts of those she ruled. How not? Their ruler was cursed to channel tainted  _ saidar _ and prophesised to break the world. But she had known that for a long time now, and it did not change her duty.

It also didn’t stop the Aes Sedai from explaining that duty, and the reasons for her subjects’ unease, to her as though she were a five year old, or simply too stupid to understand without them there to spell it out for her.

She told herself to be patient with them. Diplomatic. It was hard to sit and bear the insults of people who relied on her for salvation from the Shadow, but Raye managed it. The Aes Sedai had come to her in peace after all, to discuss an alliance.

Unfortunately, they’d come to her in deception, too, and the alliance they envisioned was not an equal one. She learned that the day plump Coran led his brothers into her private solar for their arranged meeting only for  _ saidin _ to trigger the wards she had woven around her throne. Dressed in her favourite red gown, high-necked and embroidered in gold thread, Raye embraced the Source and rose from her seat in fury.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

The pompous Aes Sedai met her fury calmly. “It is a great pity that it came to this. I very much wanted you to come to Tar Valon on your own, but it became obvious you only intended to put us off.” He actually sounded sad at having, as he saw it, overestimated her.

So far as Raye was concerned, the opposite was true. He underestimated her greatly if he thought any one of his men could shield and hold her. And since they could not link to combine their strength ...

The first Aes Sedai to attempt to shield her died. Aaron, she thought his name had been. She didn’t bother trying to recall the name of the next one to strike, or the one after that, or the ten more than fell before she began to feel the strain of channelling so much.

That famed Aes Sedai certainty grew very frayed that day, but they had come in numbers as well as in deceptive peace. Sweat began to trickle down Raye’s face as they fought. She kept glancing at the doors. The noise would draw her guards; she only needed to hold out long enough.

The Aes Sedai were aware of that danger, too. “This is taking too long. It was supposed to be quiet!” snapped the wiry Cairhienin, Vaerid. “We won’t be able to get back to the mansion at this rate.”

“Then we will use the backup plan. Just take her down already! But don’t hurt her,” Coran wailed, with an uncharacteristic lack of pomposity.

The remaining Aes Sedai struck in unison. Raye tried to deflect their invisible blows but one got through, staggered her, shook her concentration. Another soon followed, and several more followed that, taking advantage of the gaps that grew in her defences. They could not shield and hold her but they could beat her unconscious, and so that was what they did.

“Blood and ashes,” she heard someone curse softly, after she finally collapsed to the carpeted floor. “So many dead. I didn’t think she could ... Blood and ashes.”

“Fucking bitch!” someone else growled, with bitter viciousness.

“I am in charge now, Coran,” Gaelin said. “It was agreed, if it came to this, the Red Ajah would take charge.” The Red Ajah. They dedicated their lives to hunting down and Gentling women who could channel. Horror and desperation demanded that Raye fight on, but her body would not obey her. The darkness lurking at the edges of her vision closed in, and consciousness faded.

When Raye woke again, the pain made her groan loudly before she realised she was not alone and choked back any further such sign of weakness. The Phoenix Reborn could not afford to be weak, not if she hoped to do what she was required to do.

She was in a large wooden room, or more specifically, she was in a large iron cage in the middle of a larger wooden room. Blankets and pillows had been thrown on the planks, and it was on top of those that she had been sleeping.

“Awake at last.”

Turning her head so suddenly caused Raye to wince. Six black-coated Aes Sedai sat in chairs around the cage, the coloured sashes that crossed their torsos from right shoulder to left hip proclaiming their Ajah of choice. All glared at her with hostile contempt.

It was Gaelin who had spoken. He was a plump, dark-haired man; soft-bodied like most Aes Sedai, for they considered physical labour beneath them. He used a large iron key to unlock a door in the iron cage that surrounded her, and stepped inside. Three of his brothers came after him, one of whom carried a tray with a teapot and a several cups upon it.

Raye tried to open herself to  _ saidar _ but could not sense it at all. She felt the blood drain from her face. Had they Gentled her already?

“The Amyrlin forbids it,” Gaelin said, in answer to her unspoken question. He grinned smugly at her expression. “We have another way to keep you in your place, girl. While you were out, we’ve been keeping you well watered. Here, drink.”

The slim Aes Sedai who carried the teacup—Uyn she thought his name was—approached her and offered the drink as though he actually expected her to comply. Raye knocked it out of his hands, smashing the cup on the wooden floor and spilling whatever poison was in it. Angry mutters rose from the surrounding Aes Sedai.

“You can’t seriously expect me to drink that. Release me and I will order my people to show you mercy,” Raye declared.

“I intend to deliver you to the Tower in reasonable health,” Gaelin said coldly. “Drink, or you will be made to.”

Raye stubbornly crossed her arms under her breasts, only to regret the gesture immediately when she noticed the way it drew Philip’s attention to her assets. The Taraboner licked his lips, though his eyes remained as cold as always. Gaelin did not look at her body at all; he never had.

“Fine. Play the fool,” said Gaelin. “Hold her still.”

Philip and the third of Gaelin’s men, a sharp faced fellow named Therin who’d always reminded her of a fox, strode over and seized Raye by the arms. Gaelin waited only long enough for Uyn to fill another cup before taking it from the younger man’s hands and grabbing Raye by the chin. He poured the hot liquid into her mouth and then, correctly anticipating her plan to spit it back at him, clamped a hand over her mouth and pinched her nose shut. Raye was left with no choice but to swallow the tea and whatever the Aes Sedai had put in it. Some of the watching Aes Sedai laughed, those who took any notice. Uyn didn’t. She thought he looked a little ashamed, and wondered if there was any way she could use that to escape from this mess.

She wondered, too, where this room was. How had they gotten out of her city without running afoul of the army that surrounded it? She only had to wonder for a brief time though, for when the Aes Sedai released her and she staggered across the floor, she noticed for the first time how the ground beneath her swayed, rocking to a gentle rhythm.  _ A ship. I’m in the hold of a ship _ . They must have carried her to the docks and fled that way. That would make it a lot harder for her people to pursue. Raye hid her despair as best she could.

They left her alone after that. Well, alone except for the half dozen men arrayed around her cage. Other that the blankets and pillows, there was nothing in her cage except an empty bucket for her to do her business in. When the time came that she could hold it no more, and she swallowed her pride long enough to ask the Aes Sedai to give her some privacy, they refused.

The grey-haired man she had chosen to ask, in the hopes that he might have leaned some decency with his years, looked almost apologetic. He had orders, he said, as though that explained it all. Grinding her teeth, Raye went to the bucket and did what she had to do. She showed as little skin as she could while spreading her skirts over the bucket and pulling down her underwear, but she was very conscious of the eyes on her. Not all of them were as apologetic as greyhair, and at least one youngster grinned openly as he watched the show. In the silent, barely furnished hold of the ship, the sounds she made seemed very loud. Raye could not stop her cheeks from blazing.

Raye was sitting cross-legged in her cell, trying and failing to feel  _ saidar _ , when Therin returned. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed—there were no windows in the ship’s hold, and certainly no clocks—but it had been long enough for her to start feeling the need to sleep again. The guards around her cell had been changed twice over, though several of those who had been watching her before were among those Aes Sedai who trailed in behind Therin. Uyn and the grey-haired man whose name she didn’t know were not, she couldn’t help but notice.

Therin took hold of the bars of Raye’s cell and smirked at her. “Do you know how many Aes Sedai you killed, bitch?”

_ At least one less than I should have _ , Raye thought, staring at him coldly.

“Far too many,” growled the yellow-haired Volsuni, Hanan.

Some of the newly arrived Aes Sedai were speaking to her guards. She heard Erik whisper something about Tower law forbidding it, to which Emir responded with something about the Amyrlin’s orders. The handsome and dusky-skinned Satvesh rose wordlessly from his seat and left the room without looking back. Erik soon followed, if with somewhat less grace. The other four remained. Like Therin and his four friends, they looked at Raye with various degrees of anger and anticipation.

Raye closed her eyes and prayed to the Creator, asking Him to grant her strength. She had a sick feeling she knew what was coming.

Shorn of  _ saidar _ , Raye suffered under no delusion that she could defeat so many grown men, but she fought them anyway, for pride’s sake if nothing else. None of them were particularly muscular by men’s standards and they were too confident of their power to bother using  _ saidin, _ so she was able to get a few satisfying hits in before they overpowered her.

Smirking Paitar and cold-eyed Ferid held her arms tightly so Raye used her feet instead. She connected solidly with the crotch of the handsome Andoran, Raymond, causing him to shrink in on himself so badly that she could have landed another kick right on his face if the other Aes Sedai hadn’t thrown her to the ground.

Hanan sat on her shins to hold her still as his brothers began tearing at her clothes. “You deserve this,” he said grimly.

“You and your Tower will deserve everything the Dark One can do to you if you don’t let me go!” Raye yelled. “Do you really think I’ll save you from the Shadow if you do this!?”

Therin leaned down to slap her across the face. “Don’t get ideas above your station, woman. We don’t need help from the likes of you. It was weak and foolish women like you who broke the world and ended the Age of Legends. We won’t let that happen again. You’ll sit in the corner and do what you’re told from here on out. Your training begins tonight, and by the time we present you to the Amyrlin Seat you’ll be properly humble and obedient.”

They tore every last scrap of clothing from her body and, once they had stripped her to her skin, Ciaran sulkily kicked the garments across the deck. The plump, yellow-haired man was still nursing the bruise on his cheek from when she’d punched him. He looked ashamed, but she very much doubted it was because of what he was helping to do to her. “I want to go first,” he said, trying and failing to make himself sound intimidating.

“Too bad,” Therin snorted. “Emir and I have seniority.”

“Quite,” agreed the Taraboner he spoke of. He hefted a short riding quirt and slapped it against his palm. “Turn her over. She needs to be punished before her training can start.”

They did just that, presented her bare ass cheeks to the Red brother. With Hanan, Paitar and Ferid still holding her down, there was nothing Raye could do to stop him from lashing her bottom. She refused to cry out but she was unable to keep from flinching when the quirt laid its red lashes across her tender flesh again and again. Paitar laughed at the display they made of her.

When Emir had exhausted his arm and left Raye’s bottom feeling as though it was scalded, he turned to the youngest of their number, Baldan, and said, “Bind her hands behind her back.” The Saldaean leapt to obey. The cords he used were silk but he was not gentle about applying them. They cut into Raye’s wrists painfully.

Therin and Emir exchanged silent looks for a moment. Whatever agreement they came to led to Emir coming around to face her while Therin strutted over to stand at her back. Hanan took hold of her red braid and pulled on it roughly, forcing Raye up onto her knees, back arched and breasts outthrust. A hard slap from Paitar’s hand set them to jiggling and won approving laughs from the gathered Aes Sedai. Emir and Therin reached into their black breeches to fish out their ugly cocks, then got into position at Raye’s front and back.  _ Both holes at once then. Bastards _ .

She gritted her teeth when Emir thrust himself into her dry pussy, and despite herself could not keep from giving a pained yell when, shortly afterwards, Therin rammed himself into her even drier butt. The men grunted in satisfaction as they violated her.

“Hmn. Well she’s certainly no virgin,” Emir said.

“Of course not,” sneered Raymond in his aristocratic voice. The Andoran had recovered from the kick she’d landed, and did not look at all happy. “How do you think the likes of her came to command an army that size? I have no doubt she spread her legs for every last man of them.”

“What else does a woman have to offer?” put in the stern and grey-haired Michayo.

Raye was held pinned between the two Aes Sedai as they railed her from both sides. “The Phoenix Reborn,” Emir grunted between hard thrusts. “Not so full of yourself now, are you?” He stared into Raye’s eyes as he raped her, and his hard, dark orbs were devoid of mercy or pity.

“She’s full of something,” Baldan jested, winning a few chuckles from the watchers.

“And about to be full of something more,” Therin gritted. The narrow cock he’d been jamming into her ass began speeding up. “Are you ready to take your first load of Aes Sedai come, ‘my Lady Phoenix’? Say, ‘yes please.’ ”

“Fuck you,” Raye managed.

He laughed. “Other way around, bitch.” Then he let out a satisfied sigh and Raye felt something warm and wet begin spurting into her back passage. She cursed the fairness of her skin then, for it was impossible to hide the way her face coloured in shame.

Perhaps that pleased Emir, for it was only a few moments later before he, too, began spurting. As he soiled Raye’s womb with his seed, a horrible thought occurred to her. She had no supply of heartleaf tea near to hand, and she rather doubted these men would know of it, or be willing to grant her some if they did. It was sadly possible that she might get pregnant from this. A single, unwelcome tear escaped her eye to trickle down one cheek.

Of the nine Aes Sedai gathered around the bound woman, only Hanan looked even slightly sorry for that. “Vengeance for our fallen,” he muttered to himself before strengthening his grip on Raye’s hair.

Emir and Therin pulled their cocks out of Raye. “Now you can take a turn, Ciaran,” said the latter breathlessly.

“Hold her still then,” Ciaran said eagerly. “I’m going to use her mouth.”

Raye showed him her teeth. “Good luck with that. If you put that sad little thing anywhere near my mouth, you won’t be getting it back.”

Emir stopped tucking his soiled cock away long enough to slap her face. “Don’t think I won’t take the strap to you again, girl. I will tolerate no disrespect to Aes Sedai.”

“Go ahead. It won’t change things. Nothing will,” she said defiantly.

“We’ll see,” he grunted. “It’s a long way to Tar Valon.”

But Ciaran didn’t share his confidence. The plump Ghealdan avoided her mouth and chose instead to fuck her in the ass. He got his revenge in another way instead. He had Ferid bring him the privy pot and forced Raye to lean over it as he buggered her. She tried to move her head away but they forced her down. Thankfully, the bucket was too narrow for her head to fit inside, but she was still forced to gasp in the stench of her own waste as the Aes Sedai both fucked and spanked her ass. Her face burned with humiliation and her ass burned with pain, despite the lubrication Therin had so thoughtfully provided her. Ciaran wasn’t very long, but he was surprisingly thick.

They passed her around between them all night. Raymond put her on her back and held her legs wide apart as he fucked her pussy. He seemed to enjoy watching her face as he took her, almost as if he recognised her from somewhere.

Young Baldan came on the second thrust. He flushed at that, and then started calling her names, as though it was somehow her fault that he hadn’t lasted longer.

Paitar wanted her held above him, with his cock lodged in her ass. His brothers were happy enough to help, and Ferid was more than happy to take a turn on her unoccupied hole. He smirked as he fucked her, the first smile she’d ever seen on his face.

Hanan didn’t want to fuck her at all. He was content to jerk himself off and come all over her face. He took great satisfaction in doing it though, and aimed his cock carefully to ensure as much as possible of his sticky white fluids ended up coating her face and hair.

Michayo was another who liked to spank her ass when he fucked her. He was also perhaps the worst of them, for it was with his old cock lodged in her already come-filled body that Raye came for the first time. She hadn’t meant to. She hated these men and what they were doing to her, but her body betrayed her. It didn’t care about what her heart wanted, it only knew that cocks were stimulating her most sensitive areas. She invoked all the self-discipline she could manage to prevent any sign of the orgasm that her treacherous body wracked her with from showing on her face. It was all for nothing though. Her juices gushed out over the Aes Sedai’s hips. He made a surprised sound and yanked himself out of her, giving him and the other men a good look as her girl come squirted all over the floor of her cell.

Once they realised what was happening, the ship’s hold shook with their uproarious laughter.

“I knew she was a slut!” Ciaran crowed.

The Aes Sedai were inspired anew after that. Therin pinned her to the ground, kneeling across her chest as he used her breasts to rub himself off, soon adding his come to that which already dirtied Raye’s skin. Emir amused himself by using his little quirt to slap at the lips of Raye’s pussy while his fellow Red used her for his pleasure. Therin wasn’t the only one to come on her that time; Ciaran stood over them, playing with himself, and the sight of her flinching away from the hot fluid that Therin shot at her was enough to bring the other man off as well.

Raymond was the second one to make her come and, unlike Michayo, he did it deliberately. He knelt between her legs for a long time, smirking as he patiently stimulated her pussy with his cock and his fingers. His smirk became a mocking grin when she shuddered in unwelcome release.

Baldan went for Raye’s mouth then, perhaps thinking her broken. She didn’t quite manage to bite off his unimpressive cock—she was too shaken by all that had happened to wait patiently for him to get close—but she did manage to nip it hard enough to send him to the floor, clutching his precious rod and make high-pitched, yelping sounds. His fellow Aes Sedai weren’t very sympathetic to his pain, they just laughed at the sight of him rolling around.

When at last the Aes Sedai rapists were satisfied, they left Raye alone in her cell, extinguishing the lamps before they went. They took her torn clothes with them, too. She lay there, naked and sore and covered in the drying come of half a dozen men. Alone in the dark at last, Raye allowed her tears to burst forth. She wept long and hard, until at last she wept herself into an exhausted sleep.

Gaelin kept careful control over which Aes Sedai were allowed into Raye’s cell from that day onwards. Not out of a desire to protect her, of course. He hadn’t been remotely concerned when he beheld her state the next morning. Instead, he made sure that only those who wanted a chance to fuck the Phoenix Reborn were allowed to see what was going on in there. Those few Aes Sedai who might have been sympathetic to her plight were kept far away.

They kept her hands tied but Raye wasn’t sure she’d have used them to fight even if she could. What would be the point? She lay slack-limbed on the blanketed floor with the latest Aes Sedai thrusting away on top of her. Was it Lee? Wil? What was the point of remembering their names? There were all the same. She couldn’t recall how many times a cock had been stuck into her pussy or ass that day. Several dozen at the least.

“Hurry up, I want another go on her,” Marten whined.

He was one of the youngest Aes Sedai present, along with Baldan and the dark-skinned Tairen, Mani, who now scoffed at him, “Why? You don’t know what to do with a woman like that. Leave her to me, and soon enough you won’t even need to tie her up.” He smirked confidently as he said it and Raye squeezed her eyes shut. Mani was very well endowed and much more experienced that the other Aes Sedai, despite his relative youth. He’d made her come twice in their last session, and her treacherous legs had actually gone and wrapped themselves around his hips, before she realised what was happening and forced them straight.

But it was neither Marten not Mani who approached Raye when the other Aes Sedai finally spilled his load and rolled off her. Instead, it was Emir again, still with that damned riding quirt in his hands. She stared up at him defiantly, but she knew her gaze held nowhere near the heat it once had.

Emir bent down to seize her braid and drag her up to her knees.  _ More spanking? _ she thought tiredly.  _ Why are the Aes Sedai so obsessed with that? _ But it was not another spanking that the veteran Red had in mind. He fished his semi-hard cock out of his breeches and aimed it towards Raye’s lips. “Suck me until I am hard again,” he commanded, watching her eyes carefully.

Raye was patient this time. She ducked her head and moved slowly towards the man’s cock. When it was close enough to brush her lips against its head, she struck like a viper, intent on gelding him completely. But her jaws would not close. Something invisible held them apart, and when she glared up at Emir, she saw a knowing look on his ageless face.

“She still refuses to accept her place. After all this you still haven’t broken her?” said Gaelin. The slight surprise she heard in his voice brought Raye some little satisfaction. It wasn’t much to be proud of, but small victories were all she had now. “You should be ashamed of yourselves. The Tower demands better of its sons. Well. I will put an end to that defiance myself.” Raye glanced at him curiously. Gaelin and Philip were the only Aes Sedai in the room who hadn’t fucked her, and she’d caught both of them staring at the hard cocks that were so often on display these past days. She’d assumed they had no interest in women. So what was Gaelin up to now? “Michayo. Bring the other prisoner here,” he commanded.

Raye’s heart felt cold in her chest.  _ Other prisoner? What other prisoner? _

Her heart became as a lump of ice when Michayo returned, pushing a sullen looking Max Farshaw ahead of him. How they had caught Max she did not know, she only knew that the horrified look in his big, dark eyes when he saw her state hurt more than any of the rapes or beatings ever had.

Raye hadn’t worn anything but her own skin for days, and she was caked in the filth of sweat, cum and other things. Still she made a futile, instinctive effort to cover her shame. Max was one of her dearest friends, and much more. For him to see her like this ...

“Raye,” Max choked. “You bastards! How could you? All your talk of serving the Light, and you’d still dare do something like this?”

“All that serves the Black Tower serves the Light,” Hanan proclaimed. “The ways of the Aes Sedai are beyond your ken, boy. We do what we have always done. What is best for the world.”

“Bullshit! You’re just—” Max’s angry shout became a pained yell when an invisible force smashed him to the deck. His coat and breeches and shirt were shredded as though by knives, leaving him naked and gaping up at the surrounding men.

“Leave him alone!” Raye commanded, but her orders carried no weight here.

“Oh, I don’t think I will, girl,” Gaelin said with a satisfied smile. “Such a pretty boy. I’ve had my eye on him for a while. And you’ve gone and obliged me to be forceful.”

Down on all fours, Max struggled against what she had to assume were bonds of Air woven from  _ saidin _ . She could see nothing, of course. She wouldn’t have been able to even if they didn’t dose her with that damned tea every day. Max’s angry curses were cut off when Gaelin stuffed a wad of cloth in his mouth and tied a strip across it, gagging him. The Aes Sedai strolled around behind the naked youth and began undoing his belt.

“Here me now, Aes Sedai,” Raye said, with a solemn forcefulness that had once been second nature, but which she hadn’t managed since they captured her. “If you harm him, I swear beneath the Light and my hope of salvation and rebirth that when the time comes for you to face the Dark One you will do so alone. I will stand by and watch as she destroys you, and your precious Black Tower with you.”

Gaelin smiled at her, looked her right in the eye, and then thrust his cock into Max’s butt.

Raye’s scream of fury sounded in time with her friend’s scream of pain.

“Take her again,” Gaelin commanded. “Let him watch her service an Aes Sedai, and let her know that he knows her for the worthless slut she is.”

Raye had not fought her rapists since that first time, but she fought them now, for all the good it did. They dragged her kicking and screaming towards Max and Gaelin, then threw her to her knees in front of them. It was Therin who took her by the hair then, pulling on her braid as though it were a horse’s reins. He took her body, too, thrusting viciously into her pussy. The slap of his hips against her fleshy bottom sounded in time with those of Gaelin’s against Max’s tight little butt. Raye’s heavy breasts dangled beneath her, swaying madly in response to the Aes Sedai’s forceful fucking.

Gaelin took hold of Max’s dark hair and forced his head back. “Look at her, son. That is the source of your discomfort. You should have placed your faith in the Tower, not in a mere woman.” His other hand crept down over Max’s hip and around towards his pretty cock. Gaelin took hold of it and began stroking it in his palm, without ever stopping the rocking of his hips.

Embarrassed alarm shone in Max’s eyes when he felt himself getting hard. The smirk that Gaelin smirked at that moment would have inspired Raye to torch the entire ship if only she still had access to  _ saidar _ . She recalled how much the Aes Sedai had enjoyed shaming her over the orgasms they’d wrung from her body, and knew then what Gaelin meant to do. Raye opened her mouth to tell Max it was okay, that she wouldn’t think the less of him, no matter what happened. But her words would not come. The same invisible force that prevented Max from moving, prevented Raye from speaking.  _ Burn them. Burn all the Aes Sedai! _ She could only watch as Gaelin brought her dear friend to a red-faced orgasm, forcing his cock to spurt all over the floor of Raye’s prison while the other Aes Sedai raped her right in front of him. Max’s shame was such that he didn’t even react when Gaelin gritted his teeth and began coming inside him. When the Aes Sedai had finished his business and Max was finally freed to move, her dear friend collapsed to the deck and curled up on himself.

“Did you enjoy seeing that, slut?” Therin said. “Most would be bored of seeing men come, especially after seeing as many as you have, but there you are, dripping wet and twitching in pleasure.” It was a lie. Raye was nowhere close to coming, but Max didn’t know that and she had no way to tell him herself. Therin came inside her soon after, laughing at his own wickedness.

Therin’s come was still leaking out of Raye’s abused pussy when Gaelin came to stand over her. “This little defiance you’ve been clinging to,” he said arrogantly. “The teeth. I would have an end to it. And if I do not get that end, your little friend here will get more of what he got today. Every single time you defy us, he will suffer for it. Do you understand me, daughter?”

Raye squeezed her eyes shut, wishing there was another way. But she already knew her answer. She couldn’t allow Max to be hurt, no matter what.

“I asked you a question, child. Even kings know better than to make an Aes Sedai repeat himself. That should be a hundred times true for a woman. Answer me!”

“I understand,” Raye said, defeatedly.

“Good,” said Gaelin, as though the result had never been in doubt. He gestured to Michayo once more. “Take little Max back to his cabin. And be sure to wrap him in a cloak first. It’s chilly out.”

It took several Aes Sedai to make Gaelin’s command a reality, for they practically had to carry Max out of the room. The sight of him hanging between them, staring at nothing, broke Raye’s heart.

Once he was gone, Gaelin motioned Emir over. “You may resume. Now, Raye al’Thor, Phoenix Reborn, show us how well you have learned the respect due to initiates of the Black Tower.”

Emir’s cock was fully hard now. He pointed it towards her lips, still watching her carefully. Raye sighed sadly, opened her mouth, and took the Aes Sedai’s cock inside. She heard the gathered men give a little cheer and begin congratulating each other at the sight of her submission. “Suck it,” Emir urged. And she did. She ran her lips up and down the hot meat in her mouth, bobbing her head over his shaft until she felt something thick and salty spill forth to taint her mouth. Emir gripped her by the head, holding her in place, and demanded she swallow his come. So she did that, too.

They queued up to be pleasured by her after that, arrayed in some order that she couldn’t begin to guess the logic behind. She sucked them all and drank down each load of come that they spilled in her mouth, trying not to see the satisfied looks on their ageless faces.

When the ship finally reached Tar Valon, the Aes Sedai gave Raye a plain dress of roughspun wool to wear while they paraded her through the streets of the city like a trophy of the hunt. She knew the dress was for their benefit more than hers—they would have been happy to parade her naked if they thought it would increase the Black Tower’s prestige rather than lower people’s opinion of them.

As she drew close to that huge black building, Therin leaned in close to whisper her fate. “There is a chamber being prepared just for you, high in the Tower where none but Aes Sedai can reach. It is a huge room, with a very big bed,” he cooed. “There are almost a thousand of us, did you know? And you are going to suck off every last one of us. That will be your breakfast and your dinner and your supper from now on. You’ll live on come. Do you remember when I told you I would make you remember your place, woman? Well that is it: down on your knees, sucking Aes Sedai cock.”

Raye knew that wasn’t right. That was not what the Creator had sent her to do, even if it was all she  _ could _ do now. The fools thought they were destroying her, and in some ways they might be, but worse by far was the way they were destroying themselves and everyone else in this Light-forsaken world. “This isn’t right,” she whispered, then frowned in surprise at how odd her voice sounded.

_ This isn’t right,  _ he repeated _. This isn’t me. This. Isn’t. My. World! _

Rand felt himself being pulled in a thousand different directions, but his will was as iron _. Not again. I won’t lose! A man throwing a ball. A triangle in a circle. I’m going home! _

Flicker.

A sharp pain shot through him when his knees struck the stone. Remember your place. Exhausted as he was, Rand stayed down for no more than a heartbeat before angrily forcing himself back to his feet. “Who are you to tell me what my place is!?” he snarled at no-one. Though ... this place he now stood in was none he had ever seen before. They were in a low stone basin beneath an evening sky. The sun had almost set, and the air tasted of snow. It tasted ... pure.  _ Where am I now? What world is this? _

Izana, Inukai and Rikimaru were down on the ground, still breathing, but otherwise unmoving. Those were the three who had been with him when ... Behind them loomed the tall grey pillar of the Portal Stone, and at its peak there was carved what looked very much like a small man getting ready to throw a rock.

Rand climbed the stone steps that led up out of the basin in which the Portal Stone stood, not quite daring to hope. As he reached the top, the world unveiled itself to him. He saw tall, snow-capped mountains, scattered forests and lakes; beyond them he could hear a great waterfall cascading over the side of the mountain. And beyond that, far below, a beautiful green valley nestled between two wide, swift-flowing rivers. The Theren.  _ I’m home _ .


	31. Investigators

CHAPTER 28: Investigators

The Tower library was never completing empty during the day, but preserving their privacy was a relatively simple matter when they had so many new allies to call on. Elayne sprawled on a rug in front of a covered fireplace, studying the list of names Verin had produced, patiently reading every word one more time. The other pages, the list of  _ ter’angreal _ , sat on the table around which the other Accepted had gathered. They had discussed that one at length already and some of the descriptions listed for the  _ ter’angreal _ would have been enough to give her nightmares, if she was not already so well stocked with fuel for such.

The things she had seen and done and not done during the Accepted test were more than troubling, but she could have dismissed them from her mind. They were nightmares, too, of a sort; or so she wanted to believe at least. The questions they had asked of her, however, and the answers she had given, were much harder to purge from her mind. The test had called for her to abandon all she loved in order to become an Accepted of the Tower. Was that part of the design, a devotion that all initiates were required to display, or had it been something unique to Elayne? She wanted to ask some of the other Accepted about it but did not dare. What she had seen had been far too personal to discuss, and she could only assume their own experiences would be equally as personal. So she held her peace, and dreamed her troubled dreams of Gawyn and Min and Rand accusing her of betraying them.

She had dreamed of the Seanchan, too, of women in dresses with lightning bolts woven on their breasts, collaring a long line of women who wore Great Serpent rings, forcing them to call lightning against the White Tower. That had started her awake in a cold sweat.

Elayne frowned down at her hands. The Great Serpent ring looked out of place on hands all wrinkled from long immersion in hot, soapy water. True to her word, the Amyrlin had not spared them their increased chores, despite their being innocent dupes in Liandrin’s scheme, or the fact that Nynaeve was hunting the Black Ajah for her.

Nynaeve was pacing around the corner of the library that they had commandeered for their use. She’d stationed Pedra and Mair at the perimeter of their gathering, with orders to ensure that they were not disturbed. And they had very much been orders, too, orders that the other two Accepted had obeyed, for all that they were older and more experienced than Nynaeve.

Elayne was a bit proud of her. Nynaeve could be a little vexing at times—okay, a lot vexing, if one was being honest—but she tended her people well and responsibly. They could do a lot worse for a leader.

Nynaeve’s current circuit brought her to the fire and she came to a halt, staring down at Elayne. “Put those away. We have been over them twenty times, and there isn’t a word that helps. Verin gave us rubbish. The question is, was it all she had, or did she give us rubbish on purpose?”

_ That is not to say they couldn’t do a bit better, of course _ , Elayne thought. She kept her attention on the papers and schooled herself to calmness. “Knowing their names helps,” she said. “Knowing what they look like helps.”

“You know very well what I mean,” Nynaeve snapped in her usual, irritable manner.

Elayne let it pass over her. Nynaeve was Nynaeve. She frowned into the distance thoughtfully. “Liandrin was the only Red. All the other Ajahs lost two each.”

“Oh, do be quiet, child,” Nynaeve said.

She turned her head at that, directing a flat, meaningful look Nynaeve’s way.  _ Honestly! There are limits to what I will endure _ . She wiggled her left hand to display her Great Serpent ring, the ring that proclaimed her to be of the same rank as Nynaeve now, before continuing. “No two were born in the same city, and no more than two in any one country. Amico Nagoyin was the youngest, some fifteen years older than I. Joiya Byir could be my great-grandmother’s great-grandmother.”

“And what does that tell us?” Nynaeve’s voice was too calm; she was ready to explode like a wagon full of fireworks. “What secrets have you found in it that I missed? I am getting old and blind after all!”

“It tells us it is all too neat,” Elayne said calmly. “What chance that thirteen women chosen solely because they were Darkfriends would be so neatly arrayed across age, across nations, across Ajahs? Shouldn’t there be perhaps three Reds, or four born in Cairhien, or just two the same age, if it was all chance? They had women to choose from or they could not have chosen so random a pattern. There are still Black Ajah in the Tower, or elsewhere we don’t know about. It must mean that.”

Nynaeve gave her braid one ferocious tug. “Light! I think you may be right. You did find secrets I couldn’t. Light, I was hoping they all went with Liandrin.”

“We do not even know that she is their leader,” Elayne said. “She could have been ordered to ... to dispose of us.” Her mouth twisted. “I am afraid I can only think of one reason for them to go to such lengths to spread everything out so, to avoid any pattern except a lack of pattern. I think it means there is a pattern of some kind to the Black Ajah.”

“If there’s a pattern,” Nynaeve said firmly, “we will find it. Elayne, if watching your mother run her court taught you to think like this, I’m glad you watched closely.”

Elayne found herself grinning brightly in response. Praise from Nynaeve was doubly welcome, firstly because it was so much more sincere than the lacy flattery she had become used to at court, and secondly because praise of any kind—for any one—from her was so rare.

“Unless they want us to think they’re hiding a pattern, so we will waste our time hunting for it when there isn’t one,” Ilyena put in. “I am not saying there isn’t; I am only saying we do not know yet. Let’s look for it, but I think we ought to look at other things, too, don’t you?”

“So you finally decided to rouse,” Nynaeve said. “I thought you had gone to sleep.”

“Repetition gets boring but I manage to endure it. Somehow,” Ilyena said pointedly.

The Volsuni sat close to her pillow-friend, Dani, at one end of the table. The rest of their little army hunched close to each other as well, even those who had not been particularly fond of each other before being recruited by Nynaeve. The revelation of the Black Ajah’s existence was enough to make any woman think long and hard over whom she should consider being friends with, and reassess the weightiness of others’ irritating but harmless habits. There were twelve of them now but Nynaeve still spoke of finding more. Elin was her latest candidate. She was the oldest Accepted, but so weak in the Power that neither Elayne nor Nynaeve were convinced it would be worth their while to approach her. Whoever they brought with them, Nynaeve wanted to outnumber Liandrin’s group of Darkfriends when the time came to face them down.

While Nynaeve and Ilyena exchanged glares, Elayne considered the Volsuni’s words and judged them disappointingly accurate. She hated that. Not because she hated to be contradicted, but because she hated to fail. The Lion Throne deserved only the best from its Daughter-Heir. “She is right,” Elayne said disgustedly. “I have built a bridge out of straw. Worse than straw. Wishes. Maybe you are right, too, Nynaeve. What use is this—this rubbish?” She snatched one paper out of the stack in front of her. “Rianna has black hair with a white Mayel streak above her left ear. If I am close enough to see that, it’s closer than I want to be.” She grabbed another page. “Chesmal Emry is one of the most talented Healers anyone has seen in years. Light, could you imagine being Healed by one of the Black Ajah?” A third sheet. “Marillin Gemalphin is fond of cats and goes out of her way to help injured animals. Cats! Paah!” She scrabbled all the pages together, crumpling them in her fists. “It is useless rubbish.”

Nynaeve knelt beside her and gently pried her hands from around the papers. “Perhaps, and perhaps not.” She smoothed the pages carefully on her breast. “You found in them something for us to look for. Perhaps we will find more, if we are persistent. And there is the other list.”

All eyes turned to the table, where the other sheets lay. Shimoku fidgeted nervously, and Theodrin rested her chin atop her steepled fingers, looking as though she regretted ever getting involved with their group. Dark Mayam set aside the half-eaten apple she’d been munching on, her prodigious appetite momentarily forgotten. Nynaeve had encountered some difficulties locating Mayam but had pursued her determinedly, on account of the extended time the woman had spent as a student. Normally such a delay in being raised would count against one, here in the White Tower, but in their case it meant that Mayam was one of the few who had already achieved her full strength in the Power and yet had not had the opportunity to join the Black Ajah, even had she been inclined to.

Nynaeve had surprised Elayne by returned with a second Accepted, the day she went out to bring Mayam to their meeting. Calindin was another of those who had been held back for an extended time. A stocky Taraboner, with tan skin and black hair in the narrow braids typical of women from that land, Calindin had a quiet, unassuming air about her. She did whatever was asked of her, albeit in a somewhat deliberate way, and was the only one of the women present who did not look discomforted by the topic they discussed.

Emara reached over to squeeze the hand of their newest recruit, her busty, Andoran pillow-friend, Ronelle. Nynaeve had been furious when Emara showed up for one of their meetings with Ronelle in tow and announced that she had already told the girl everything about their mission. Ronelle had interrupted Nynaeve’s tirade herself, informing her in no uncertain terms that she would not be taking Emara into danger without her there to watch her back. Elayne’s attempt to smooth things over by pointing out that the deed was done and there was nothing further to be gained by dwelling on it had met with mixed success, but when she added the sentiment that no-one so obviously concerned for another’s welfare would be likely to serve the Shadow, even Nynaeve had to nod in agreement, however grumpily.

It was Dani who twitched the sheets over and began to read from them in a quiet voice. “Item. A rod of clear crystal, smooth and perfectly clear, one foot long and one inch in diameter. Use unknown. Last study made by Corianin Nedeal. Item. A figurine of an unclothed woman in alabaster, four inches tall. Use unknown. Last study made by Corianin Nedeal. Item. A disc, apparently of simple iron yet untouched by rust, three inches in diameter, finely engraved on both sides with a tight spiral. Use unknown. Last study made by Corianin Nedeal. Item ...”

There were four more  _ ter’angreal _ that matched those; an amber plaque, palm sized, with the image of a sleeping woman on it; a silver ring worked in braided spirals; a bracelet seemingly made of twisted glass; and a ring about the same size as the one Verin had given Elayne, but made of some strange material that allowed its size to be altered to suit the finger of anyone who wished to wear it. Elayne wondered why the Black Ajah had taken so many items connected to Corianin Nedeal, or perhaps more accurately, connected to  _ Tel’aran’rhiod. _

The other items on the list were hardly more comforting, as Elayne saw it. A wooden carving of a hedgehog, no bigger than the last joint of a man’s thumb. Any woman who tried to channel through it went to sleep. Half a day of peaceful, dreamless sleep. That sounded harmless enough but the simple fact that Black Ajah wanted it made Elayne suspect there was more to the  _ ter’angreal _ than Verin’s notes described.

No-one had ever been able to figure out what the book-like  _ ter’angreal _ did. The thing was described as having an unadorned red cover and looking very much like any large tome one might find in the library, yet no amount of pressure or trickery had ever been able to make its pages part. Useless, one might think. And yet the Black Ajah had snatched it.  _ Why? _

There was a small, bent black rod that could be used to stun people from afar; that sounded rather reminiscent of the weapon Asha’bellanar had used against them outside Stedding Tsochan. If so, it was something they would do well not to underestimate.

The whip Verin’s notes described—of golden sheen, yet as supple as old leather—seemed to serve a similar purpose, insomuch that it could drain the strength of any channeler it struck. Temporarily drain, they had all been relieved to see noted. Elayne couldn’t help but wonder what the Aes Sedai who had first tested that had thought when its effects struck.

But the most dangerous of the stolen  _ ter’angreal _ was surely the three foot long fluted rod of black stone that produced Balefire. Elayne well recalled the effect that weave had had on the Darkhounds they encountered in Valreis. She recalled the exact placement of the threads Moiraine had woven to create her Balefire, too ... When she’d looked over the notes earlier, the entry on that rod had featured a notation writ so strong in Verin’s hand that it had torn the paper in two places. It read: DANGEROUS AND ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE TO CONTROL.

Thirteen Black Ajah, with thirteen  _ ter’angreal _ . Elayne shivered.  _ It’s getting so I do not even like to think of that number _ . Equally as troubling was how many of the stolen artefacts were connected to this long dead Aes Sedai, Corianin Nedeal. Verin had mentioned the same name when she gave Elayne the twisted ring that was now hidden in her new room in the Accepted’s quarters.

Nynaeve carried the smoothed-out pages to the table and set them down. She leaned over Dani’s shoulder, oblivious to the offense the woman took, and glanced over the papers with her. “Here’s one Mat would enjoy,” she said in a voice much too light and airy. “Item. A carved cluster of six spotted dice, joined at the corners, less than two inches across. Use unknown, save that channelling through it seems to suspend chance in some way, or twist it.” She began to read aloud. “ ‘Tossed coins presented the same face every time, and in one test landed balanced on edge one hundred times in a row. One thousand tosses of the dice produced five crowns one thousand times.’ ” She gave a forced laugh. “Mat would love that.”

Elayne sniffed. She’d heard many rumours about Mat Cauthon since returning to the Tower. And quite scandalous ones at that. Cheating at dice certainly seemed like something a man like him would enjoy. She got to her feet and went to join them at the table, taking a seat beside Mayam.

“Best not to mention him around Mair,” Ronelle said, glancing over her shoulder at the distant sentry.

“She should have known better than to get involved with that scoundrel,” Nynaeve said mercilessly. “Any woman with the brains of a goose would.” She’d heard the rumours, too. Afterwards, Elayne had heard her mutter something about blistering Mat’s hide for him if she’d thought it would do any good.

“Is this Corianin woman Black Ajah, too?” Calindin asked.

“No. She died four hundred years ago. She was the last Aes Sedai to have the Talent of Dreaming,” Theodrin said patiently.

“The Black Ajah seem very interested in anything connected to that Talent,” said Dani.

Elayne and Nynaeve exchanged looks. She’d told Nynaeve about Verin’s gift, but they’d agreed not to mention it around the others.

“Perhaps,” Nynaeve said finally, “Verin simply missed the fact that so many of them were last studied by Corianin.” She did not sound as if she really believed it.

Elayne nodded slowly, though she wasn’t entirely convinced herself. “I saw her walking in the rain once, soaking wet, and took a cloak to her. She was so wrapped up in whatever she was thinking, I do not believe she knew it was raining until I put the cloak around her shoulders. She could have missed it.”

“If she did not, she had to know you’d notice as soon as you read the list,” said Ilyena. “If it was an attempt at deception it was a strange and weak one.”

Nynaeve grunted. “Sometimes I think Verin notices more than she lets on. And knows more, too,” she said grimly.

“So there’s Verin to suspect,” Elayne sighed. “If she is Black Ajah, then they know exactly what we are doing. And Raelie, Alanna Benico and Yuna.”

She had told them about the near-accident—if accident it had been—during her testing. She’d told them what Sheriam had said about the terrible weakness conferred by the ability to channel, too. The one part they had had trouble accepting was Yuna’s self-imposed penance; Aes Sedai just did not do things like that. No-one in her right mind did anything like that, but Aes Sedai least of all.

“I like Yuna.” Nynaeve tugged her braid, then shrugged. “Oh, very well. Perha—That is, she did behave oddly. In any case, the Amyrlin knows of it, and she can keep an eye on Yuna far more easily than we can.”

“What about Elaida and Sheriam?” Dani asked.

“I have never been able to like Elaida,” Elayne said, “but I cannot truly believe she is Black Ajah. And Sheriam? It’s impossible.”

“It’s supposed to be impossible for all of them,” Mayam said heatedly. “There are not supposed to be Black Ajah at all. They insist on it.” She snorted bitterly. “They insist on a lot of things. Burn me, it’s worth your hide to even say the words ‘Black Ajah’ in an Aes Sedai’s presence.”

“True. But some are more likely than others,” said Ronelle. “I’d believe it of Elaida long before I’d believe it of Sheriam.”

Nynaeve shook her head. “When we do find them, there is nothing says they’ll all be women we do not like. Thinking otherwise is dangerous. But I don’t mean to put suspicion—not this kind of suspicion!—on any woman. We need more to go on than that they might have seen something they shouldn’t.” She waited for them all to nod agreement before going on. “We will tell the Amyrlin that much, and put no more weight to it than it deserves. If she ever looks in on us as she said she would. If you are with us when she comes, Elayne, remember she does not know about you.”

“I am not likely to forget it,” Elayne said fervently. They’d lock her up like a ... well, like a princess in a palace, if they realised she was helping Nynaeve. “But we should have some other way to get word to her. My mother would have planned it better.”

“Not if she could not trust her messengers,” Nynaeve said. “We will wait. Unless you think one of us should have a talk with Verin? No-one would think that remarkable.”

Elayne hesitated, then gave her head a small shake. She liked Verin, they had been through a lot together, but the possibility that it was the  _ ter’angreal _ she had given her mere moments before her testing that had caused the mishap with the archways, made her wary of the seemingly dotty Brown.

“Good.” Nynaeve sounded more than satisfied. “I am just as pleased we cannot talk to the Amyrlin when we choose. This way we make our own decisions, act when and as we decide, without her directing our every step.” Her hand ran down the pages listing stolen  _ ter’angreal _ as if she were reading it again.

Emara and Ronelle exchanged dubious looks. It was Shimoku who spoke up though, sounding as solemn as usual. “You should have more faith in the Amyrlin, Nynaeve. We cannot hope to accomplish this task without her. Even if we found out the names of every last member of the Black Ajah, what could we hope to do with it? Only she could order them arrested.”

“I know that,” Nynaeve said sharply. “But finding those names in the first place will be easier without her tugging at my sleeve every other minute.”

Raised voices drew Elayne’s attention away from the gathering. Mair had planted herself in the path of another white-clad Accepted. Taller but much more slender, Elayne wouldn’t have thought much of her chances of pushing past Mair even did she seem willing to attempt it.

Mair planted hands toughened by a great deal of recent farmwork on her still-meaty hips. “I told you. It’s a private gathering. You’ll have to come back later.”

The other girl was dry washing her hands. “But I need it for my essay. Varant’s  _ Weighing the World _ won’t suffice on its own; it requires a dissenting viewpoint to measure it against.” Mair just shook her head.

“Who is that?” Elayne asked Mayam.

She glanced at the newcomer once and then grinned, her white teeth looking particularly dazzling when contrasted with her dark skin. “That’s just Wynifred. Future member of the Brown Ajah. I’m not surprised you don’t recognise her.”

“What makes you so sure she’ll choose Brown?”

“She practically is one already,” Mayam laughed. “She’s had the barely-aware-of-anything-that-isn’t-in-a-book thing perfected almost since she first came here. Rarely leaves her room except to go to lessons or fetch something new to study.”

“She’s smart then?” Nynaeve said. Elayne hadn’t realised she’d been listening.

Mayam regarded her for a moment before answering. “Very. Not exactly what you’d call a fighter though ...” she said dubiously.

“None of us were. But here we are,” Nynaeve muttered, studying the newcomer grimly.

“Could you maybe get it for me, then?” Wynifred was entreating Mair. She was quite pretty, this Wynifred, almost like a taller, more delicate version of Nynaeve, with large, brown eyes and long, brown hair. “I’ll just wait here. I promise I won’t go closer.”

Mair shook her head again. “I’m afraid not.”

“Oh, let her through, Mair,” Nynaeve called.

The Arafellin shot Nynaeve a sulky look, but she still stepped aside.

Wynifred brushed her hair behind her ear. “Thanks. I’ll just be a moment,” she said shyly.

Elayne had already decided to adopt her. If Nynaeve hadn’t strode over to meet her as she hastened towards the nearby bookshelves, Elayne would likely have taken matters into her own hands.

They couldn’t discuss the Black Ajah while Nynaeve was sounding out Wynifred nearby, so Elayne let her attention wander.

The library stood a little apart from the tall, thick shaft of the White Tower proper. Its pale stone was heavily streaked with blue, and it looked much like crashing waves frozen at their climax. Those waves loomed as large as a palace in the morning light, and Elayne knew they certainly contained as many rooms as one, but all those rooms—those below the odd corridors in the upper levels, where Verin had her chambers—were filled with shelves, and the shelves filled with books, manuscripts, papers, scrolls, maps, and charts, collected from every nation over the course of three thousand years. Not even the royal library in Caemlyn held so many. Min had loved it here. Elayne hoped she was well, wherever she was now.

A few Novices and Accepted were scattered throughout this part of the library, but only a few. The Ninth Depository focused on mathematics, and not many people studied that topic unless someone else was forcing them to. That was why Nynaeve had chosen it for their meeting. There were some Aes Sedai present, mostly Browns, and all of those were either sitting alone at a table reading one book or another, or browsing the shelves. The lone Yellow sister’s brown hair fell just shy of her shoulders; Elayne didn’t recognise her until she turned around and her mismatched eyes met Elayne’s.

_ Yuna. What’s she doing here? _ When she started walking towards their table, Elayne rose hastily to go and intercept her. Mair and Pedra might be able to turn away the Novices, and even the other Accepted, but they wouldn’t be able to stop an Aes Sedai. If they even tried, they likely would end up spending the rest of the year doing penance.

Yuna was dressed more fancily than usual, in a dark yellow gown embroidered in silver thread with vines and leaves across the lower skirts and the wide sleeves. Elayne wondered for a moment if that was a sign that the humility the woman had displayed earlier was all an act. Then she wondered if there would ever again come a time that she did not look at strangers suspiciously.

“Elayne. I am glad to see you looking so well, after the trouble that occurred during your testing,” Yuna said in her soft voice, once Elayne had come to stand before her.

“Thank you, Yuna Sedai. It was a troubling experience but I took no lasting harm from it.”  _ To someone’s disappointment _ .

“We have not yet been able to discover the cause of the malfunction but I wanted to let you know that the investigation is ongoing.” Yuna hesitated before continuing. “I don’t want to alarm you, but can you think of anyone who might wish you harm?”

_ Careful now _ , Elayne cautioned herself. If Yuna was Black Ajah, then that was exactly the kind of question she would ask to ascertain if they had aroused suspicion. “My mother taught me that I should be constantly on guard against assassination attempts from rival nations or Houses,” she said truthfully, if misleadingly, just like an Aes Sedai should. “but none of them have a personal vendetta against me. At least none that I know of.”

“That’s good. But what about here, in the Tower? Have you had a falling out with some of your fellow students? Is there an Aes Sedai, perhaps, that you might have offended?”

“I try to get along with everyone, Yuna Sedai,” Elayne said brightly. “And I certainly don’t mean to offend an Aes Sedai.” Which was true: she’d much rather throw Liandrin off a tall building than offend her.

Yuna looked a little disappointed. “I see.”

“Is something wrong?” Elayne asked guilessly.

Yuna gave a small shake of her head. “It is nothing you need concern yourself with.”

They were approached by another Accepted, one Elayne knew this time, if only in passing. Keestis was a fellow Andoran who almost matched Elayne’s colouring, save that her eyes were a paler shade of blue and her hair yellow-gold instead of red-gold. They were of a height, too. Elayne had sometimes thought of inviting her to sit with their group, during her previous stay in the Tower, but Keestis’ stoic and serious demeanour led her to suspect the woman would be one of those very proper Andorans, the kind who could never see her as anything but the Daughter-Heir. Elayne much preferred Min or Nynaeve’s honest forthrightness.

“I have the scrolls you were asking for, Yuna Sedai,” Keestis said, offering the items in question to the Yellow sister.

Yuna took them from her and concealed them behind her dangling sleeves before Elayne could see what they were. “Why the delay? Did anyone interfere with you?”

Keestis’ pale cheeks flushed. “No. I-it—I just had difficulty finding the right ones.”

“Well, the library is rather large, and I don’t mind waiting. A bit. There is no need to be upset, child,” Yuna said kindly.

“Yes, Aes Sedai.

“I will be off then.” Yuna looked at Elayne for a moment longer before adding, “Take care, Elayne,” and then gliding gracefully towards the exit. Elayne had the odd feeling she had intended to say something else.  _ But what? _

“Damned eyes,” Keestis said under her breath.

“Yuna’s? I think they look quite pretty actually,” said Elayne tartly. She’d heard some say that mismatched eyes like hers were the sign of a curse, but that was superstitious nonsense so far as Elayne was concerned.

“Not hers. Mine,” Keestis sighed.

Elayne was lost. Hers looked perfectly normal. “What’s wrong with them?”

The woman stiffened. “Never you mind. That’s my business.”

“Quite. I did not mean to pry,” Elayne said calmly. She was pleasantly surprised at Keestis’ directness, and decided to test it further.

“What did Yuna ask you to fetch for her?” she demanded.

“You should have asked her that, if you wanted to know. I’m not about to gossip,” Keestis answered, in a satisfactory manner. Though Elayne really did want to know what Yuna was up to.

Elayne raised her chin, and her brows, high. “Is that any way to speak to your Daughter-Heir?”

Keestis nodded to herself, as though at a suspicion confirmed. “Maybe not, but we’re both Accepted here. If you want people to run and fetch your slippers for you then you should have stayed in the palace.”

Elayne dimpled a smile at her. “I misjudged you. I thought you would be all stiff and proper. My apologies, for that and for this little deception. I’m Elayne Trakand.” She offered her hand, which Keestis stared at dubiously for a moment before reaching out and giving it a cautious shake.

“Keestis Trep, from Whitebridge. You don’t mind me speaking to you like that?” She sounded surprised.

“I might, if we were in the royal palace. There are appearances to uphold, you understand. But here, with just the two of us? I would much rather be simply Elayne.”

“Huh. I guess I misjudged you, too, then,” Keestis said with a small smile.

Elayne pursed her lips. “How so?”

That smile became a bit of a smirk. “Never you mind.”

Elayne had the sneaky feeling she was being made fun of, but that could wait. “If you have no pressing concerns at the moment, Keestis, there are some people I would like you to meet. We’re embarking on a bit of a group project that I think you could help with.”

Her eyes slid past Elayne to the women gathered around the table. “Is that Dani and Ilyena?”

It plainly was. Elayne suddenly realised what the girl had been lamenting with regards to her eyes. She decided not to draw attention to it though. “It is. Would I be right in assuming you already know them?”

“Dani’s a good woman. Ilyena’s ... Ilyena,” said Keestis with a wry smile.

Elayne linked elbows with the other Accepted. “I quite agree. She is indeed an Ilyena,” she giggled as she led Keestis towards their group.

Pedra looked Keestis over suspiciously as they approached but didn’t try to stop them. Elayne didn’t think Nynaeve could object to Keestis joining them—she was certainly a better prospect than a sourpuss like Pedra.

Nynaeve and Wynifred were sitting at the table—the incriminating papers having disappeared to somewhere more private—when Elayne returned.

“I-I don’t know. Y-You all seem very n-nice but I have so much work to do,” Wynifred was saying nervously.

“So do we,” said Dani. “Very important work.”

“Which we can talk about later,” Nynaeve said firmly. She gave Elayne a hard look. “Who’s your new friend?”

“Keestis the Golden, Bane of the Tardy, Copier of Notes,” smirked Ilyena.

“Good to see you, too, Ilyena,” Keestis sighed. “Are you still afraid to have your fringe cut?”

Ilyena peered at her from beneath the pale curtains of her hair. “Am I? You tell me.” Her mean smile vanished when Dani playfully hit her across the ear.

“Down girl,” the Domani said sternly, before turning a smile their way, ignoring Ilyena’s glower. “Be welcome, Keestis. You might want to grab a seat for this.”

Most of the others seemed passably acquainted with Keestis as well, though Calindin limited herself to a nod of greeting rather than the smiles and words that the rest exchanged.

The greetings were still underway when Nynaeve rapped impatiently on the table. “The first thing you need to know is that our activities are sanctioned by the Amyrlin Seat and that speaking of them to anyone outside this group might leave you having to explain to her why over your own howls of pain. I say ‘might’ because it’s doubtful you’ll survive my anger long enough to suffer hers. The second thing you—” She scowled over Elayne’s shoulder. “What now?”

Once more Mair was confronting another Accepted, but this time the more slender woman looked inclined to push past her stout challenger. And this time Elayne knew her, too, unfortunately.

Asseil Moussa was the daughter of a minor House in Tarabon. Tall, beautiful and full-breasted, her tan skin went well with the thin, golden braids into which her hair had been woven. Brown eyes along with that hair made her look a little like Liandrin, which would have been enough to disincline Elayne towards her even if the woman had not been such a jealous grasper. She looked down her nose at Mair, whose hands hung in fists at her sides.

“What do you want, Asseil?” Nynaeve said impatiently.

Asseil sniffed. “Not to be here, for one thing. But I have a message for you,” Her eyes studied the women gathered around the table curiously. “From the Amyrlin.”

Elayne exchanged wondering looks with Nynaeve. “Well, what is it?” Nynaeve demanded.

“The belongings left behind by Liandrin and the others were put in the third storeroom on the right from the main stairs in the second basement under the library,” Asseil said.

Nynaeve leaned back in her chair with a sour look on her face. “So much for picking my own team,” she muttered. “That woman just couldn’t resist sticking her nose in. Who’s next? Faolain? Bah!” She pointed to one of the empty chairs. “Well? I don’t want to have to explain this again. Sit down.”

Asseil rested one hand in her narrow waist and raised her brow at Nynaeve. “Who do you think you are, al’Meara, to give me orders?”

Nynaeve pulled the Amyrlin’s letter out of her pouch and slapped it down on the table. “The one the Amyrlin put in charge of this hunt. Now plant your cheeks while they are still unbruised enough to be planted.”

Asseil came to table and took a seat. She did it as though she was being dragged by an invisible mule— _ or a visible one _ , thought Elayne, lips quirking—but she still did it.

“What has any of this got to do with the Amyrlin?” Keestis asked worriedly.

By way of answer, Nynaeve unfolded her letter and let the three new Accepted read it. When they were done and the inevitable incredulous questions had been asked, Nynaeve began to explain their purpose. They took it relatively well, all things considered. Wynifred may have buried her head beneath her folded arms but she didn’t seem to be weeping. And it only took two women to prevent Asseil from running away. Keestis sat quietly, staring at her own hand as though surprised by the way it was shaking.

“The Amyrlin also told me I could recruit women from among the Accepted to help bring these traitors to justice,” Nynaeve finished. “I’m sure I don’t need to explain, at this point, why you’re all here.”

“The Black Ajah,” Asseil gasped. “You expect me to fight the Black Ajah? I mean, there—there is no Black Ajah.”

Nynaeve looked at her unhappily. “Actually it’s the Amyrlin who wants you to fight the Black Ajah. She apparently thinks more highly of you than I do. But if you want to run away and hide under your bed, feel free. So long as you keep your mouth shut about what you heard here. And so long as you are prepared for whatever she will do to express her disappointment.”

“Are you calling me a coward!?” Asseil demanded. Elayne looked askance at her. She managed a fine display of indignation for a woman whose voice had risen several octaves and who had just needed both Mayam and Ronelle to stop her from fleeing through the library. She did a fine job of ignoring the way they still clung to her arms as well.

Nynaeve folded her arms under her breasts. “No. I don’t think it is cowardice not to want to fight Darkfriends, or women who can channel, or—worst of all—women who can channel and are also Darkfriends. It’s perfectly normal to want to avoid that. That’s why I’ve only approached women who I think might have the spine to be more than normal. Two of which shouldn’t have to waste their time holding on to you. If you are leaving, then leave.” Almost every woman gathered around the table perked up a little while Nynaeve spoke, save for Calindin, who blinked uncertainly, and Asseil, whose cheeks darkened. Even Elayne couldn’t help but feel a little heartened. “And if you are staying, then take your seat,” Nynaeve finished.

Asseil took her seat, staring straight ahead and refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

Nynaeve nodded curtly. “Alright then. Give me the Amyrlin’s message again. It was where in the second basement?”

They spoke in fierce whispers for some time after that. Keestis adapted quickly to the change in her circumstances, though she shook her head stubbornly when Theodrin tried to explain why they could not afford to trust any full sister. Wynifred proved surprisingly talkative for one so withdrawn. Her nervousness was very apparent—the Aes Sedai would want her to bury that beneath a cold mask before they let her advance, Elayne knew—but despite her nervousness she asked some pointed questions about their investigation thus far, and seemed to take to the task quickly, if not eagerly. Asseil just sat there, lost in her own thoughts, sullenly ignoring Shimoku’s efforts to engage her in conversation.

Eventually, Nynaeve grew tired of listening. “We’ve no time to sit here talking. I mean to see what is in that storeroom before anyone has a chance to get rid of it. Maybe they were careless. Let’s not give them a chance to correct it, if they were.”

Elayne fell in beside Nynaeve, and together they led their party of hunters out of the library and around the great building’s foundations. There, lying flat to the ground in the shade of tall pecan trees, were other doors, both large and small. Labourers sometimes needed access to the storerooms beneath, and the librarians did not approve of sweating men tracking through their preserve. Nynaeve pulled up one of those, no bigger than the front door of a farmhouse, and motioned the others down a steep flight of stairs descending into darkness. When she let it down behind them, all light vanished.

Elayne opened herself to  _ saidar _ —it came so smoothly that she barely realized what she was doing—and channelled a trickle of the Power that flooded through her. For a moment the mere feel of that rush surging within her threatened to overwhelm other sensations. A small ball of bluish-white light appeared, balanced in the air above her hand. She felt others embracing  _ saidar _ behind her, and the luminosity soon increased. “It feels so—wonderful, doesn’t it?” she murmured.

“Be careful,” Emara said. “The desire to pull in more could hurt you.”

“I am.” Elayne sighed. “It just feels ... I will be careful.”

“This way,” Nynaeve told them sharply and brushed by to lead them down. She did not go too far ahead. She was not angry, and had to use the light the others provided.

The dusty side corridor by which they had entered, lined with wooden doors set in grey stone walls, took nearly a hundred paces to reach the much wider main hall that ran the length of the library. Their lights showed footprints overlaying footprints in the dust, most from the large boots men would wear and most themselves faded by dust. The ceiling was higher here, and some of the doors nearly large enough for a barn. The main stairs at the end, half the width of the hall, were where large things were brought down. Another flight beside them led deeper. Nynaeve took it without a pause.

Elayne followed quickly. The bluish light washed out Keestis’ face, but Elayne thought it still looked paler than it should.  _ We could scream our lungs out down here, and no-one would hear a whimper _ .

The main hall of the second basement was much like the first level, wide and dusty but with a lower ceiling. Nynaeve hurried to the third door on the right and stopped.

The door was not large, but its rough wooden planks somehow gave an impression of thickness. A round iron lock hung from a length of stout chain that was drawn tight through two thick staples, one in the door, the other cemented into the wall. Lock and chain alike had the look of newness; there was almost no dust on them.

“A lock!” Nynaeve jerked at it; the chain had no give, and neither did the lock. “Did anyone see a lock anywhere else?” She pulled it again, then flung it against the door hard enough to bounce. The bang echoed down the hall. “I did not see one other locked door!” She pounded a fist on the rough wood. “Not one!”

“Calm yourself,” Elayne said. “There is no need to throw a tantrum. We will open it some way.”

“I do not want to calm myself,” Nynaeve snapped. “I want to be furious! I want ...!”

Suddenly Nynaeve was wrapped in the glow of  _ saidar _ and holding a prybar so close in colour to the blue-white of the light that it was nearly invisible. Nynaeve frowned at the chain, muttered something about leverage, and the prybar was suddenly twice as long.

Thrusting the end of the prybar through the chain, Nynaeve braced it, then heaved with all her strength. The chain snapped like thread, Nynaeve gasped and stumbled halfway across the hall in surprise, and the prybar clattered to the floor. Straightening, Nynaeve stared from the bar to the chain in amazement. The prybar vanished.

She pulled the rest of the chain from the staples and threw open the door. “Well? Are you going to stand there all day?”

The dusty room inside was perhaps ten paces square, but it held only a heap of large bags made of heavy brown cloth, each stuffed full, tagged, and sealed with the Flame of Tar Valon. Elayne did not have to count them to know there were thirteen.

Nynaeve went straight to tumbling the bags apart and reading the tags. “Rianna Andomeran. Joiya Byir. These are what we are after.” She examined the seal on one bag, then broke the wax and unwound the binding cords. “At least we know no-one’s been here before us.”

They each chose a bag and broke the seals. The tag on Elayne’s bag read AMICO NAGOYIN.  _ Arafellin. Yellow Ajah. Not young, but she has never bonded a Warder _ , she recalled. When she upended the bag’s contents onto the dusty floor, they proved to be mainly old clothes and shoes, with a few ripped and crumpled papers of the sort that might hide under the wardrobe of a woman who was not too assiduous in seeing her rooms cleaned.

“I don’t see anything useful here,” Pedra said, while rummaging through her own pile. “A cloak that would not do for rags. A torn half of a map of some city. Tear, it says in the corner. Three stockings that need darning.”

Dani stuck her finger through the hole in a velvet slipper that had no mate and waggled it at the others. “Eldrith left no clues behind.”

“Amico did not leave anything, either,” Elayne said glumly, tossing clothes aside with both hands. “It might as well be rags. Wait, here’s a book. Whoever bundled these up must have been in a hurry to toss in a book.  _ Customs and Ceremonies of the Tairen Court _ . The cover is torn off, but the librarians will want it anyway.” No one threw away books, no matter how badly damaged.

“Tear,” Nynaeve said in a flat voice. Kneeling amid the clutter from the bag she was searching, she retrieved a scrap of paper she had already thrown away. “A list of trading ships on the Arindrelle, with the dates they sailed from Nesum and the dates they were expected to arrive in Tear.”

“It could be coincidence,” Mayam said slowly.

“Perhaps,” Nynaeve said. She folded the paper and tucked it up her sleeve.

When they finally finished, every bag searched twice and discarded rubbish heaped around the edges of the room, Elayne studied the little collection they had made, all laid in a row. “It is too much,” she said. “There is too much of it.”

“Too much,” Nynaeve agreed.

Shimoku had found a second book, a tattered, leather-bound volume entitled  _ Observations on a Visit to Tear _ , with half its pages falling out. Caught in the lining of a badly torn cloak in Chesmal Emry’s bag, where it might have slipped through a rip in one of the pockets of the cloak, had been another list of trading vessels. It said no more than the names, but they were all on the other list, too, and according to that, those vessels all had sailed in the early morning after the night Liandrin and the others left the Tower. There was a hastily sketched plan of some large building, with one room faintly noted as “Heart of the Stone,” and a page with the names of five inns, the word “Tear” heading the page badly smudged but barely readable. There was ...

“There’s something from everyone,” Wynifred said. “Every one of them left something pointing to a journey to Tear. How could anyone miss seeing it, if they looked?” She sounded almost offended.

“Perhaps they did see it, but just didn’t feel like telling Nynaeve,” Mayam muttered.

“The Amyrlin,” Nynaeve said bitterly, “keeps her own counsel, and what matter if we burn for it!” She drew a deep breath, and sneezed from the dust they had stirred up. “What worries me is that I am looking at bait.”

“Bait?” Calindin said.

Nynaeve nodded impatiently. “Bait. A trap. Or maybe a diversion. But trap or diversion, it’s so obvious no-one could be taken in by it.” The way Calindin gaped at the clues made Elayne doubt the last part of Nynaeve’s statement, if not the rest.

“Unless they do not care whether whoever found this saw the trap or not.” Elayne said uncertainly. “Or perhaps they meant it to be so obvious that whoever found it would dismiss Tear immediately.”

“Perhaps they meant to taunt whoever found it,” Dani said thoughtfully. “Perhaps they thought whoever found this would rush headlong after them, in anger and pride.”

“Some are foolish enough to fall for that,” Ilyena agreed.

“Burn me!” Nynaeve growled. It was a shock; Nynaeve never used such language. For a time they simply stared in silence at the array.

“What do we do now?” Elayne asked finally.

Nynaeve looked at her, silent and expressionless, then chose out a dark skirt that seemed not to have too many holes and rips, and began bundling in it the things they had found. “For now,” she said, “we will take this back to my room and hide it. I think we just have time, if we don’t want to be late to the kitchens.”


	32. Tel'aran'rhiod

CHAPTER 29:  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _

The room Elayne had been given was little different from Nynaeve’s and was on the same gallery. Her bed was a trifle wider, her table a little smaller. Her bit of rug had flowers instead of scrolls. That was all but it was quite a pleasant upgrade over the Novice’s cells. Nynaeve came to visit her late that night after their chores were done, to discuss her plans.

They had worked in the kitchens for two more meals, and in between tried to puzzle out the meaning of what they had found in the storeroom. Was it a trap, or an attempt to divert the search? Did the Amyrlin know of the things, and if she did, why had she not mentioned them? Talking provided no answers, and the Amyrlin never appeared so they could ask her.

Verin had come into the kitchens after the midday meal, blinking as if she were not sure why she was there. When she saw Elayne and Nynaeve on their knees among the cauldrons and kettles, she looked surprised for a moment, then walked over and asked, loud enough for anyone to hear, “Have you found anything?”

Elayne, with her head and shoulders inside a huge soup kettle, banged her head on the rim backing out. She thought her eyes would pop out of her head.

“Nothing but grease and sweat, Aes Sedai,” Nynaeve said. The tug she gave her braid left a smear of greasy soap suds on her dark hair, and she grimaced.

Verin nodded as if that were the answer she had been seeking. “Well, keep looking.” She peered around the kitchen again, frowning as though puzzled to find herself there, and left.

Raelie came to the kitchens after midday, too, collecting a bowl of big green gooseberries and a pitcher of wine, while offering Elayne a cheery greeting that tasted of mockery. Elaida showed herself as well, and then Sheriam appeared after supper with Anaiya.

Anaiya had asked Elayne when she was going to get on with their studies. Just because the Accepted chose their own lessons and pace did not mean they were not supposed to do any at all. The first few weeks would be bad, of course, but they had to choose, or the choosing would be done for them. Elaida merely stood for a time, stern-faced and staring at them, hands on her hips, and Sheriam did the same in almost the identical pose.

Hanging her dress in the wardrobe, Elayne told herself once again that Verin’s slip could have been perfectly ordinary; the Brown sister was often absentminded.  _ If it was a slip _ . Sitting on the edge of her bed, she pulled up her shift and began rolling down her stockings.

Nynaeve stood in front of the fireplace tugging her braid. “The ring that Verin gave you,” she said suddenly. “Do you still have it?”

Elayne finished removing her stockings, and then walked to the fireplace. Pushing her sleeve as far up her arm as it would go up, she leaned past Nynaeve and reached carefully up the chimney. Her fingers touched wool on the smoke shelf, and she pulled out a wadded, singed stocking with a hard lump in the toe. She brushed a smear of soot from her arm, then took the stocking to the table and shook it out. The twisted ring of striped, flecked stone spun across the tabletop and fell flat. For a few moments they just stared at it.

“What do you intend?” Elayne asked quietly.

Nynaeve’s hand closed on the striped stone ring. “It’s the only thing we have seen that has any real connection to Liandrin and the others.” She frowned at the ring in her palm, then took a deep breath. “I am going to sleep with it tonight.”

Elayne nodded. It was exactly as she suspected. She considered very carefully before speaking again. Rand and Perrin had little good to say of this  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ and she was not eager to experience it for herself. And yet ...

“I should be the one to use it,” she sighed.

Nynaeve gripped her braid “Don’t be a goose, girl. I can channel more strongly than you.”

“You can channel more strongly than me if you are angry,” Elayne clarified, raising a finger for emphasis. “Can you be sure you’ll be angry in a dream? Will you have time to become angry before you need to channel? Besides, it was me that Verin gave it to.”

Nynaeve looked as if she wanted to argue, but at last she gave a grudging nod. “Very well. But I will be here. I do not know what I can do, but if anything goes wrong, perhaps I can wake you up, or ... I will be here.”

Elayne nodded with what she hoped was grace, or anything that hid how nervous she felt. At least her hand was steady when she held it out to Nynaeve. When she dropped the  _ ter’angreal _ into Elayne’s palm it seemed somehow heavier than it had been.

Nynaeve took a long, thin strip of leather out of her pouch and handed it to Elayne. “Perhaps it will work for more than one at once. I could ... go with you, perhaps.”

Elayne threaded the leather strip through the  _ ter’angreal _ ring, then tied it around her neck. The stripes and flecks of blue and brown and red seemed more vivid against the white of her shift.

“What if it won’t work for two? What if two of us trying makes it not work at all?” They were valid reasons, but there was another, closer to her heart. “Besides, I’ll feel better knowing you are watching over me, in case ...”

She did not want to say it. In case someone came while she was asleep. The Grey Men. The Black Ajah. Any one of the things that had turned the White Tower from a place of safety to a dark woods full of pits and snares. Something coming in while she lay there helpless. Nynaeve’s face showed she understood.

Of course, there was still the matter of falling asleep.

As she stretched herself out on the bed and plumped a feather pillow behind her head, Nynaeve moved a chair to the side of the bed, snuffed the candles one by one, then, in the dark, came to sit beside her.

Elayne closed her eyes and tried to think sleepy thoughts, but she was too conscious of the thing lying between her breasts. Far more conscious than of any soreness remaining from her visit to Sheriam’s study. The ring seemed to weigh as much as a brick, now. She thought of  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ . The Unseen World. The World of Dreams. Waiting just the other side of sleep. It was no good.

“Do you know what Ajah you will chose, Nynaeve?” she said nervously.

“That hardly matters right now,” Nynaeve said quietly.

“I rather see you as a Yellow woman, if I may be so bold as to guess. I think Mayam may be right about Wynifred too; she’s a born Brown. Mayam I’d place in the Green. I might choose Green Ajah myself, you know. Then I can have three or four Warders, perhaps marry one of them. Who better for Prince Consort of Andor than a Warder? Unless it is ...” She trailed off, blushing.

“Do you really think it wise to be thinking of boys at a time like this?”

“No,” she allowed. Then, after a few silent minutes that felt like hours, “Do you think they are well? Rand and Min and the others?” Elayne whispered.

“I’m sure they’re fine. Get some sleep,” Nynaeve whispered back, with a hint of exasperation.

After another long silence, Elayne said plaintively, “Did he ever talk to you about me?”

Nynaeve let out a long sigh. “Girl ... Just try not to think about anything. Especially that. Or ... do you need to—” She muttered something angrily under her breath. “I—I could help, I suppose ...”

“Help?” What was she talking about? She thought they had already established that only one could go.

“Right then,” Nynaeve said decisively. “Hold still. And don’t get any funny ideas.”

The bed rocked as Nynaeve’s weight settled on it and Elayne felt something tug at her covers. She was still wondering what Nynaeve intended when a questing hand found her thigh and made her intentions impossible to miss.

“W-Wh—” Elayne spluttered.

“Shush,” Nynaeve breathed, “Just close your eyes and let sleep take you.”

The questing hand found her underwear and slipped inside, then down over her mound towards her soft, and now even softer, folds.  _ I should stop this _ , Elayne thought, but then Nynaeve’s fingers found her slit and thought fled.

_ Just close your eyes and let ... let her take you _ . Elayne did just that, her breath coming fast and her heart beating faster as Nynaeve fingered her. The woman’s touch was not rough, but not tender either. She seemed intent on driving Elayne to climax as quickly as possible and when she added a second finger to the one already inside her and bent them just so, Elayne became quite certain she would succeed. The thumb that began brushing against her secret bud made certain of it.

“Blood and ashes!” Elayne gasped, as she came in Nynaeve’s hand.

“Language, girl,” Nynaeve scolded, as though she were a nanny and Elayne her charge, and never mind that her fingers were still lodged in Elayne’s special place. No nanny she’d ever heard of did such wicked and exciting things to their charges.

The orgasm flowed through Elayne’s body and washed away her tension and fear. She found herself floating in peaceful lassitude while confused thoughts flittered across her consciousness.

_ I can’t believe I just got fingered by Nynaeve. What will I say in the morning? _ Then.  _ Did ... did I just have an affair on Min? _ It didn’t seem right. It didn’t feel like an affair. Not that Elayne knew what one felt like really. It had just happened.  _ It felt good though ... _

Not long after Elayne came, sleep came, too.

She stood among rolling hills quilted with wildflowers and dotted with small thickets of leafy trees in the hollows and on the crests. Butterflies floated above the blossoms, wings flashing yellow and blue and green, and two larks sang to each other nearby. Just enough fluffy white clouds drifted in a soft blue sky, and the breeze held that delicate balance between cool and warm that came only a few special days in spring. It was a day too perfect to be anything but a dream.

She looked at her dress, and laughed delightedly. Exactly her favourite shade of red silk, slashed with white in the skirt—that changed to green as she frowned momentarily—sewn with rows of tiny pearls shaped like lion’s heads down the sleeves and across the bosom. She stuck out a foot just to peek at the toe of a velvet slipper. The only jarring note was the twisted ring of multicoloured stone hanging around her neck on a leather cord.

She took the ring in her hand and gasped. It felt as light as a feather. If she tossed it up, she was sure it would drift away like thistledown. Somehow, she did not feel afraid of it any longer. She tucked it inside the neck of her dress to get it out of the way.

Just to see if she could, she opened herself to the One Power.  _ Saidar _ filled her. Even here, it was present. She channelled the flow lightly, delicately, directed it into the breeze, swirling butterflies into fluttering spirals of colour, into circles linked with circles.

Abruptly she let it go. The butterflies settled back, unconcerned by their brief adventure. Myrddraal and some other Shadowspawn could sense someone channelling. Looking around, she could not imagine such things in that place, but just because she could not imagine them did not mean they were not there. And the Black Ajah had all those  _ ter’angreal _ studied by Corianin Nedeal. It was a sickening reminder of why she was there.

“At least I know I can channel,” Elayne sighed, looking around. “So this is  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ . The World of Dreams. It does not look so very dangerous.” But Verin had said it was, and so had Rand and Perrin.

Suddenly the pretty meadow was gone and she was standing in a dank, dark hallway. There was not a sound, and all the doors along the hall were shut tight. Just as she wondered who was behind the plain wooden door in front of her, it swung silently open.

The room within was bare, and cold wind moaned through open windows, stirring old ash on the hearth. A big dog lay curled up on the floor, shaggy tail across its nose, between the door and a thick pillar of rough-cut, black stone that stood in the middle of the floor. A large, shaggy-haired young man sat leaning back against the pillar in only his smallclothes, head lolling as if asleep. A massive black chain ran around the pillar and across his chest, the ends gripped in his clenched hands. Asleep or not, his heavy muscles strained to hold that chain tight, to prison himself against the pillar.

“Perrin?” she said wonderingly. She stepped into the room. “Perrin, what is the matter with you?” The dog uncurled itself and stood.

It was not a dog, but a wolf, all black and grey, lips curling back from glistening white teeth, yellow eyes regarding her as they might have a mouse. A mouse it meant to eat.

Elayne stepped back hastily into the hall in spite of herself. “Perrin! Wake up! There’s a wolf!” Verin had said what happened here was real, and showed the scar to prove it. The wolf’s teeth looked as big as knives. “Perrin, wake up! Tell it I am an ally!” She embraced  _ saidar _ . The wolf stalked nearer.

Perrin’s head came up; his eyes opened drowsily. Two sets of yellow eyes regarded her. The wolf gathered himself. “Hopper,” Perrin shouted, “no!”

The door swung shut before her face, and total darkness enveloped her. She thought then that Rand might have been right after all. This place was passing strange.

A whirring sound, and she jumped before she recognized a cricket. A frog gave a bass croak in the darkness, and a chorus answered it. As her eyes adapted, she dimly made out trees all around her. Clouds blanketed the stars, and the moon was a thin sliver.

Off to her right through the woods was another glow, flickering. A campfire.

Elayne froze. She had no idea who—or what—was at that campfire. It could be a Myrddraal or ... or anything. But just standing there would hardly help, so she took a deep breath, gathered up her silken skirts and crept closer. At last, she peered carefully around the trunk of an old oak at the campfire.

And there he was. Rand. The man of her dreams.  _ Quite literally, as it turns out _ . Elayne struggled to suppress her giggles. He sat looking into the flames as the firelight bathed his face in warmth. Elayne was so busy staring that it took her a while to realise that those flames did not burn wood. They did not burn anything that she could see. The fires danced above a bare patch of ground. She did not think they even scorched the soil.

Rand raised his head. She was surprised to see he was smoking a pipe, a thin ribbon of tabac smoke lifting from the bowl. She hadn’t known he smoked.

“Who’s out there?” he demanded loudly. “You’ve rustled enough leaves to wake the dead, so you might as well show yourself.”

Elayne composed herself before stepping into the firelight. “I was quite certain we would be reunited some day, Rand, but I did not expect it to be so soon, or in such strange circumstances.”

He was on his feet so suddenly that she stopped dead. He seemed in some way larger than she remembered. And a touch dangerous. Perhaps more than a touch. His blue-grey eyes seemed to burn like frozen fire.

“You tried her already,” he sneered. “How many times must we do this before you leave me in peace?” He stared angrily out into the darkness as if looking for someone. “How long will you try?” he shouted at the night. “How many faces will you send? My mother, my father, now her! Girls won’t tempt me with a kiss, no matter how beautiful! I deny you, Father of Lies! I deny you!”

He was obviously distraught about something, and ordinarily she would have tried to find out what. But ... “You think I’m beautiful?” she said delightedly. Her grin felt like it reached her ears.

There was a sword in his hands, suddenly, out of nowhere. Its blade was worked out of a single flame, slightly curved and graven with a heron. “Stop it. Stop pretending to be her,” he said in a tight voice, “My mother gave me honeycake with the smell of poison rank on it. My father had a knife for my ribs. She—she offered kisses, and more.” Sweat slicked his face; his stare seemed enough to set her afire. “What do you bring?”

Elayne bit her lip before answering. “I bring friendship. I thought that was enough. For now.” She stirred the soil with her toe for a moment before continuing. “When you invited me to join your Inner Circle ... That was one of the best moments of my life. I was glad of your trust. And the things you told me about  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ back then will prove most useful now ...”

The anger and suspicion were fading from Rand’s eyes as she spoke. He actually licked his lips as he stared at her. Elayne kept her voice calm and gentle, since it seemed to be working so well. “That is what they called it in the Age of Legends, by the way, the dream world you and Perrin described for us.  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ , the World of Dreams. Verin gave me a  _ ter’angreal _ ring that allows me to enter it like you do. See?”

She made to fish the ring out of its place down the front of her dress, in order to show him, but her reaching hand found it hanging freely before her.  _ That’s odd _ . When she looked down, she saw the  _ ter’angreal _ nestled right between her pale breasts. Down below she could see the bright orange triangle that sheltered her sex, and below even that were her bare feet, caked now in the muck of the campsite. Elayne stared in shock for a long moment before reality crashed through her awareness.

“WHY AM I NAKED!?” she screeched, cowering down into a ball and trying to hide her parts with hands and knees. Her ears felt like they had caught fire.

“I-I don’t know,” Rand choked. “Weird things happen here.” His face was as red as the dress she was no longer wearing, and the fiery sword he’d held was gone. “Are you really Elayne? You must be. How else would you know about the things we discussed?”

She was suddenly tempted to tell him she was just a figment of his imagination. Perhaps then she could slink away and try to pretend this nightmare had never happened. But she found herself nodding her head miserably. “I’m her, Light help me. How do I put my clothes back on? I don’t know where they went.”

“I wish I could help you,” he said, and sounded sincere, too, despite her condition. Elayne wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. “Things just happen here. Sometimes if you think about something it will trigger it, like thinking about home and then suddenly you’re there. Other times stuff just happens for no reason.”

That didn’t make much sense to her. She certainly hadn’t thought about stripping! And if she thought about Rand being as naked as she was, she rather doubted that would happen.

One moment he was standing there in the red and gold coat he favoured, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment, the next he was standing there, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment ... and wearing nothing but his skin. Elayne’s eyes went very wide.

Rand’s flesh was like marble, pale and smooth and strong. Some master sculptor had chiselled him into the form of the heroic ideal. From his broad shoulders grew arms that looked strong enough to pick her up as though she was a child; his chest was wide and deep, hairless, as most of his body was; she couldn’t decide which demanded her stare more, those heavy, smooth chest muscles, or the multitude of smaller muscles that adorned his flat stomach. The bones of his narrow hips drew her gaze down and inward towards ...

Elayne gulped noisily, for all the good it did. Her throat was as dry as a Domani desert.

There was a tree between Rand’s legs. A tree with fiery leaves, and a thick trunk and two big apples hanging behind it. Elayne hadn’t thought it possible for her face to feel any hotter than it already did, but she had been wrong.

“What’s wrong?” Rand asked.

“Nothing!” she squeaked. He seemed completely unaware of his condition. For now. But once he noticed ...

_ Light! Please, make it stop! _ He’d said he could go home it he thought about it. She tried the same, imagining the royal palace in Caemlyn.  _ Caemlyn. Now, please. Or Tar Valon. Falme, Fontaine, anything! Just get me out of here before I die of embarrassment! _

She was not sure what it was she did, or how, but she suddenly found herself back among the rolling hills that she’d first arrived in, under a sunny sky, with larks singing and butterflies playing. She drew a deep, shuddering breath.

“I saw Rand naked,” she whispered to herself disbelievingly. “I saw his ... his ... his w-w-willy.” She had never seen a man’s private parts before. They’d been ... quite fascinating.

A fit of nervous giggling came over Elayne then, and she found herself rolling around on the grass, still as naked as her name day but no longer caring.

A redbird had perched on a cloudberry bush nearby, crest lifting as it tilted its head to watch her cautiously. “Well, I am not helping anything by lying here talking to myself, now am I?” she tittered, addressing the bird. “Or talking to you, either.”

The redbird took wing and disappeared into the ether even as she as looking at it.

Elayne got to her feet and fished the stone ring out of the front of her dress.  _ Wait. When did I find new clothes?  _ She was wearing her Accepted’s banded white dress now. Only the ring on its cord remained the same. Why was it not changing? Everything else did, even her!

She was supposed to be searching for clues about the Black Ajah’s activities, she reminded herself. She could almost hear Nynaeve’s voice again.  _ Do you really think it wise to be thinking of boys at a time like this? _ “No. Of course not. Duty calls,” she sighed.

Determined, she tightened her hand around the  _ ter’angreal _ . “Take me where I need to be.” Once again she embraced  _ saidar _ , fed a trickle of the One Power into the ring. She knew it did not need any flow of Power directed at it to work, and she did not try to do anything to it. Only to give it more of the Power to use. “I need to know what the Black Ajah wants. Take me to the answer.”

“Well, you’ve found your way at last, child. All sorts of answers here.”

Elayne’s eyes snapped open. She stood in a great hall, its vast domed ceiling supported by a forest of massive redstone columns. And hanging in midair was a sword of crystal, gleaming and sparkling as it slowly revolved.

An old woman stepped out of the shadows of the column, bent and hobbling with a stick. Ugly did not begin to describe her. She had a bony, pointed chin, an even bonier, sharper nose, and it seemed there were more warts growing hairs on her face than there was face.

“Who are you?” Elayne said suspiciously. The only people she had seen so far in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ were those she already knew, but Rand had spoken of encountering the Forsaken here in the past. Though ... it was hard to imagine this bent-backed old woman as one of them.

“Just poor old Silvie, my Lady,” the old woman cackled. At the same time she managed a stoop that might have been meant for a curtsy, or possibly a cringe. “You know poor old Silvie, my Lady. Served your family faithfully all these years. Does this old face still frighten you? Don’t let it, my Lady. It serves me, when I need it, as good as a prettier.”

“It is a fine, strong face, good woman,” Elayne said, trying to hide her dubiousness. There were a great many servants employed at the Royal Palace, and an even greater number of loyal Andoran women in the country beyond the palace’s walls. She did not recognise Silvie, but that did not make the woman a liar. “Silvie, you said something about finding answers here. What did you mean?”

“Oh, you’ve come to the right place for answers, my Lady. The Heart of the Stone is full of answers. And secrets. The High Lords would not be pleased to see us here, my Lady. Oh, no. None but the High Lords enter here. And servants, of course.” She gave a sly, screeching laugh. “The High Lords don’t sweep and mop. But who sees a servant?”

That was all too true. She wondered how many of her own childish antics had been witnessed by people unnoticed. “What manner of secrets are held here?”

But Silvie was hobbling toward the crystal sword. “Plots,” she said as if to herself. “All of them pretending to serve the Great Lord, and all the while plotting and planning to regain what they lost. Each one thinking he or she is the only one plotting. Ishamael is a fool!”

Elayne’s blood went cold.  _ Wake up. Wake up now _ . But willing it did not make it happen.

The old woman turned to present a crooked, ingratiating smile. “Oh, don’t mind me, my Lady,” she said, when she noticed Elayne’s alarm. “Just a thing poor folks say. It turns the Forsaken’s power, calling them fools. Makes you feel good, and safe. Even the Shadow can’t take being called a fool. Try it, my Lady. Say, Ba’alzamon is a fool!”

Elayne’s lips twitched into a parody of a friendly smile. “Ba’alzamon is a fool! Ha Ha Ha. Oh, you’re quite right, Silvie.”  _ Wake Up! _

When nothing happened, Elayne pointed at the crystal sword, hoping to buy time before this “servant” did whatever she was planning to do. “What is that?” she asked, though of course she already knew.

“ _ Callandor _ , my Lady. You know that, don’t you? The Sword That Cannot Be Touched.” Abruptly she swung her stick behind her; a foot from the sword, the stick stopped with a dull thwack and bounded back. Silvie grinned wider. “The Sword That Is Not a Sword, though there’s precious few knows what it is. But none can touch it save one. They saw to that, who put it here. The Dragon Reborn will hold  _ Callandor _ one day, and prove to the world he’s the Dragon by doing it. The first proof, anyway. Lews Therin come back for all the world to see, and grovel before. Ah, the High Lords don’t like having it here. They like nothing to do with the Power. They’d rid themselves of it, if they could. If they could. I suppose there’s others would take it, if they could. What wouldn’t one of the Forsaken give, to hold  _ Callandor _ ?”

Elayne glanced at the sparkling sword. If the Prophecies of the Dragon were true, Rand would wield it one day, though from the rest of what she knew of the Prophecies concerning  _ Callandor _ , she could not see how it could ever come to be.

Cautiously, she reached out with the Power, probing at whatever held and shielded the sword. Her probe touched—something—and stopped. She could sense which of the Five Powers had been used here. Air, and Fire, and Spirit. She could trace the intricate weave made by  _ saidar _ , set with a strength that amazed her. There were gaps in that weave, spaces where her probe should slide through. When she tried, it was like fighting the strongest part of the weave head on. It hit her then, what she was trying to force a way through, and she let her probe vanish. Half that wall had been woven using  _ saidar _ ; the other half, the part she could not sense or touch, had been made with  _ saidin _ . That was not it, exactly—the wall was all of one piece—but it was close enough. A stone wall stops a blind woman as surely as one who can see it.

Footsteps echoed in the distance. Boots.

Elayne could not tell how many there were, or from which direction they were coming, but Silvie gave a start and immediately stared off among the columns. “He’s coming to stare at it again,” she muttered. “Awake or asleep, he wants ...” She seemed to remember Elayne, and put on a worried smile. “You must leave, now, my Lady. He mustn’t find you here, or even know you’ve been.”

Elayne was already backing in among the columns. She didn’t know who “he” was, but she had a suspicion she knew  _ what _ he was.

Silvie followed, flapping her hands and waving her stick. “Off with you now. There’s no more need for you to be seeing all this, my Lady,” she said ingratiatingly. When Elayne remained in place the woman’s attitude suddenly changed. “You don’t know the way out,” she said flatly, then went on in a near whisper, ingratiating and mocking at once, an old retainer who felt she could take liberties. “Oh, my Lady, this is a dangerous place to come into, if you don’t know the way out. Come, let poor old Silvie take you out. Poor old Silvie will tuck you safe in your bed, my Lady.” She wrapped both arms around Elayne urging her further from the sword. Not that Elayne needed much urging. The boots had stopped; he—whoever he was—was probably gazing at  _ Callandor _ .

“Just show me the way,” Elayne whispered back. The old woman’s fingers had somehow gotten tangled around the stone ring. “Don’t touch that, please.”

“You look a bit like her,” Silvie whispered. “But lucky for you, you’re not her. I’d know.”

She yanked on the cord, and pain annihilated the world.

With a throat-wrenching shriek, Elayne sat up in the dark, sweat rolling down her face. For a moment she had no idea where she was, and did not care. “Oh, Light,” she moaned, “that hurt!” She ran her hands over herself, sure her skin must be scored or wealed to make such a burning, but she could not find a mark.

“I am here,” Nynaeve’s voice said from the darkness. “I’m here, Elayne.”

Elayne threw herself toward the voice and wrapped her arms around Nynaeve’s neck in sheer relief, only belatedly realising how awkward that could be, given what had happened earlier. “I’m back, thank the Light.”

“Was it bad?” Nynaeve asked worriedly. She did not pull away. “You never stirred. You never mumbled. I did not know whether to wake you or not.”

The darkness was unnerving, despite Nynaeve’s closeness, so Elayne embraced  _ saidar _ for a moment, and every candle in the room burst into flame.

Nynaeve blinked in alarm, or perhaps at the sudden brightness. How long had she been asleep? How long had Nynaeve been sitting awake, watching over her? Elayne had no doubt that was what she had been doing. “What happened?” Nynaeve asked. “What did you ... dream?”

Elayne lay back on the bed and told her all, or almost all. The unintentional flashings she kept to herself. The rest she gave her word for word, describing everything.

“ _ Callandor _ . The Heart of the Stone. That was marked on the plan. I think we know where the Black Ajah is,” Nynaeve said.

“It does not change the trap,” Elayne cautioned. “If it is not a diversion, it is a trap.”

Nynaeve smiled grimly. “The best way to catch whoever set a trap is to spring it and wait for him to come. Or her, in this instance. Besides, they probably think it will be just the two of us. We will have a surprise of our own for them.”

“You mean go to Tear then?”

Nynaeve nodded. “The Amyrlin has cut us loose, it seems. We make our own decisions, remember? At least we know the Black Ajah is in Tear, and we know who to look for there. Here, all we can do is sit and stew in our own suspicions of everybody, wonder if there is another Grey Man out there. I would rather be the hound than the rabbit.”

“I have to write to my mother,” Elayne said. Nynaeve’s frowned at her sternly. “I have already vanished once without her knowing where I was,” she continued defensively. “If I do it again ... You do not know Mother’s temper. She could send Gareth Bryne and the whole army against Tar Valon. Or hunting after us.”

“You could stay here,” Nynaeve said. “It isn’t necessary for you to risk yourself. The rest of us can probably handle matters in Tear.”

“No. I will not let you go into danger without me. And I won’t stay here wondering if the sister teaching me is a Darkfriend, or if the next Grey Man will come after me.” She gave a small laugh. “I will not work in the kitchens while you are off adventuring, either. I just have to tell my mother than I am out of the Tower on the Amyrlin’s orders, so she won’t become furious if she hears rumours. I do not have to tell her where we are going, or why.”

“You surely had better not,” Nynaeve said. “She very likely would come after you if she knew about the Black Ajah. For that matter, you can’t know how many hands your letter will pass through before it reaches her, or what eyes might read it. Best not to say anything you don’t mind anyone knowing.”

“That’s another thing.” Elayne sighed. “The Amyrlin does not know I am with you. I have to find some way to send it with no chance of her seeing it.”

“I will have to think on that.” Nynaeve’s brows furrowed. “Perhaps once we’re on our way. You could leave it at Whitebridge on the way downriver, if we have time to find someone there going to Caemlyn. A sight of that paper the Amyrlin gave me might convince somebody. We will have to hope they work on ship captains, too, unless you have more coin than I have.” Elayne shook her head dolefully.

“You need sleep, after ...” Her gesture took in the stone ring. “I will give the Amyrlin one more chance to seek me out. When we finish with breakfast, pack what you want to take, but keep it light. We have to leave the Tower without anyone noticing, remember. If the Amyrlin doesn’t reach us by midday, we’ll leave. I mean to be well on my way to Nesum before Trine sounds. How does that sound to you?”

“It sounds excellent,” Elayne said firmly.

“Then we had best get some sleep.”

“Nynaeve,” Elayne said in a small voice, “I ... I don’t want to be alone tonight. I keep thinking about the Soulless. I do not know why, but they frighten me even more than the Black Ajah.”

“I suppose,” Nynaeve said slowly, “I don’t really want to be alone, myself.” She eyed the bed where Elayne lay. “That looks big enough for two, if everybody keeps her elbows to herself.”

Elayne set the  _ ter’angreal _ ring on her bedside table, and then scooted over to make room while Nynaeve took off her shoes. Just before she extinguished the candles, she noticed that the older woman left her dress on as she climbed into bed.

They settled down to sleep but Elayne’s thoughts kept drifting back over the things that had happened that night. With Nynaeve a warm presence at her side, the changes regarded their relationship seemed the most pressing of all.

Eventually she whispered into the night. “Nynaeve, are you still awake?”

“What is it?” Nynaeve said.

“I was just wondering if you were having trouble sleeping.”

“I’m fine,” Nynaeve responded, after a long pause.

Elayne pushed herself up on one elbow. “I could help if you like,” she offered tentatively. “It doesn’t seem fair, you helping me and my not returning the favour.”

“Don’t worry about it. It ... was just something that needed doing.” She could tell Nynaeve was trying to sound gruff, but her voice was much too breathless for it to work.

Elayne moved closer and rested her hand on the woman’s belly under the covers. “I really wouldn’t mind at all. You’ve been so good to me,” she said softly. She moved her hand lower, ever so slowly. “But if you tell me to stop I will, of course.”

She twitched Nynaeve skirt upwards, inch by inch, until she touched the banded hem. Nynaeve lay silent and passive at her side, but when Elayne dared to touch her warm thigh, she trembled in response. Encouraged, Elayne did just as Nynaeve had, slipping her hand down the front of the woman’s underwear, brushing over her hairy mound and sending a slender finger questing towards her warm, and flatteringly wet, slit.

Nynaeve started breathing heavily when Elayne’s finger entered her. Unlike her, Elayne took it slow, gently caressing her lower lips for a long time before adding a second finger, then slowly plumping them in and out of Nynaeve’s hot fanny.

Nynaeve’s soft moans of pleasure were music to her ears. She was almost reluctant to silence them but she wanted so to kiss her. At first, Nynaeve did not respond to the gentle touch of Elayne’s lips on hers, but after the first few pecks she began to kiss her back.

Elayne knew she should seek out Nynaeve’s secret bud, to speed her along to her climax, but she was enjoying the kisses so much that she waited a long time before doing so. Nynaeve’s hips were writhing against her hand by then in a most flattering manner.

When she finally did rub her slickened fingers across Nynaeve’s nub, the former Wisdom came almost instantly. Her arm locked around Elayne’s shoulders and she pressed her mouth to the top of Elayne’s head, muffling her cries with the other girl’s curly mop.

“Oh, that felt so different,” Nynaeve moaned between breaths, once her orgasm had run its course and she had collapsed on the bed.

“I’m glad you liked it,” Elayne said cheerily. She cuddled up against Nynaeve’s warmth and rested her head on the woman’s shoulder. Despite everything, she felt as though she would sleep well tonight.

She had almost drifted off when Nynaeve suddenly laughed.

“What is it?” Elayne said sleepily. “You are not that ticklish.”

“I just thought of someone who’d be happy to carry your letter for you. Happy to leave Tar Valon, too. In fact, I’d bet on it.”


	33. A Way Out at Last

CHAPTER 30: A Way Out at Last

Clad only in his breeches, Mat was just finishing a snack after breakfast—some ham, three apples, bread, and butter—when the door of his room opened, and Nynaeve and Elayne filed in, smiling at him brightly. He got up for a shirt, then stubbornly sat down again. They could at least have knocked. In any case, it had been ages since he’d seen someone from back home, so it was good to see Nynaeve again. At first, it was.

“You look well, Mat. Have there been any complications from the Healing?” Nynaeve said.

“I’m right as rain,” he answered. He wasn’t fool enough to tell her about the holes in his memories. She’d nag him endlessly in an effort to fix them.

“Have you had enough of good food and rest?” Elayne asked.

Nynaeve gave him a tight smile. “You look ready to be up and about, to me. Are you tired of being cooped up, yet? You never could stand two days in a row indoors.”

He eyed the last apple core reluctantly, then dropped it back on the plate. Almost, he started to lick the juice off his fingers, but they were both looking at him. And still smiling. He realized he was trying to decide which of them was prettiest, and could not. Had they been anybody but who— and what—they were, he would have asked both of them to dance a jig or a reel. He had danced with Nynaeve once, but that seemed a long time ago.

“ ‘One pretty woman means fun at the dance. Two pretty women mean trouble in the house. Three pretty women mean run for the hills.’ ” He gave Nynaeve an even tighter smile than her own. “My da used to say that. You’re up to something, Nynaeve. You’re smiling like cats staring at a finch caught in a thornbush, and I think I am the finch.”

The smiles flickered and vanished. He noticed their hands and wondered why they both looked as if they had been washing dishes. The Daughter-Heir of Andor surely never washed a dish, and he had as hard a time imagining Nynaeve at it, even knowing she had done her own back in Emond’s Field. They both wore Great Serpent rings, now. That was new. And not a particularly pleasant surprise. Mat had never thought much of the Aes Sedai, and his captivity these past months had lowered that opinion even more.

“Mat, just because we want to ask you a favour does not mean we don’t care how you feel,” Nynaeve said. “We do care, and you know that, unless you’re being even more wool-headed than usual. Are you well?”

“I’m ready to run ten miles and dance a jig at the end of it. And I absolutely love being locked up for the crime of being too handsome, or whatever it was your friend the Amyrlin locked me up for.”

“She’s not my friend,” Nynaeve said grimly. She jerked her braid, and suddenly took his head between her hands; a chill ran through him.  _ Light, the Power! _ Before the thought was done, she had released him.

“What ...? What did you do to me, Nynaeve?”

“Not a tenth part of what you deserve, in all likelihood,” she said. “You are as healthy as a bull.”

“I told you I was. What favour?” he said uneasily. Nynaeve did not ask favours, in his recollection; Nynaeve told people what to do and expected to see it done.

“I want you to carry a letter for me,” Elayne said before Nynaeve could speak. “To my mother, in Caemlyn.” She smiled, making a dimple in her cheek. “I would appreciate it so very much, Mat.” The morning light through the windows seemed to pick out highlights in her hair.

Mat knew when he was being conned. Though she’d make for a fine tumble, depending on how far she was willing to go with her game. He pushed the thought right out of his head. “That does not sound too very hard, but it’s a long trip. What do I get out of it?” From the look on her face, he did not think that dimple had failed her very often.

She drew herself up, slim and proud. He could almost see a throne behind her. “Are you a loyal subject of Andor? Do you not wish to serve the Lion Throne, and your Daughter-Heir?”

Mat snickered.

“I told you that would not work,” Nynaeve said.

Elayne had a wry twist to her mouth. “I thought it worth a try. It always works on the Guards, in Caemlyn. You said if I smiled—” She cut off short, very obviously not looking at him.

_ What did you say, Nynaeve _ , he thought, furious.  _ That I’m a fool for any girl who smiles at me? _

He kept his outward calm, though, and managed to maintain his grin.

“If we can go back to what we planned in the first place,” Nynaeve said in a too-calm voice. The other woman nodded, and she turned her attentions on him. For the first time since coming in, she looked like the Wisdom of old, with a stare that could pin you in your tracks and her braid ready to lash like a cat’s tail.

“You are even ruder than I remembered, Matrim Cauthon. With you sick so long, and Elayne and I being out of the city, I had almost forgotten. Even so, I would think you’d have a little gratitude in you. You’ve talked about seeing the world, seeing great cities. Well, what better city than Caemlyn? Do what you want, show your gratitude, and help someone all at the same time.” She produced a folded parchment from inside her cloak and set it on the table. It was sealed with a lily, in golden yellow wax. “You cannot ask for more than that.”

He eyed the paper regretfully. He barely remembered passing through Caemlyn, once, with Rand. It was a shame to stop them now, but he thought it best.  _ If you want the fun of the jig, you have to pay the harper sooner or later _ . And the way Nynaeve was now, the longer he kept from paying, the worse it would be. “Nynaeve, I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you cannot? Are you a fly on the wall, or a man? A chance to do a favour for the Daughter-Heir of Andor, to see Caemlyn, to meet Queen Morgase herself in all probability, and you cannot? I really do not know what more you could possibly want. Don’t you skitter away like grease on a griddle this time, Matrim Cauthon! Or has your heart changed so you like seeing these all around you?” She waved her left hand in his face, practically hitting him in the nose with her ring.

“Please, Mat?” Elayne said.

He squirmed on his chair. “It is not that I don’t want to. I cannot! The Amyrlin’s made it so can’t get off the bloo—the island. Do you not think I’ve tried to escape? The Amyrlin made it so I cannot cross a bridge or board a ship without an order from her. You see? It’s not that I do not want to help. I just can’t. I’m not even allowed out of the Tower grounds these days. Change that, and I will carry your letter in my teeth, Elayne.”

Looks passed between them. He sometimes wondered if women could read each other’s minds. They certainly seemed to read his when he least wanted it. But this time, whatever they had decided silently among themselves, they had not read his thoughts.

“But you will if we can get you out of Tar Valon?” Nynaeve said intently.

“You get me out of Tar Valon, and I’ll carry Elayne to her mother on my back,” Mat answered fervently.

Elayne’s eyebrows went up, as though offended. Women had no sense of humour, sometimes.

Nynaeve motioned for the Daughter-Heir to follow her to the windows, where they turned their backs to him and talked so softly he could catch only a murmur. Watching, he wondered if they really thought they could get around the Amyrlin’s order.  _ If they can do that, I will carry their bloody letter. I really will carry it in my teeth _ .

Without thinking, he picked up an apple core and bit off the end. One chew, and he hastily spit the mouthful of bitter seeds back onto the plate.

When they came back to the table, Nynaeve handed him a thick, folded paper. He eyed them suspiciously before opening it out. As he read, he began humming to himself without knowing it.

_ What the bearer does is done at my order and by my authority. Obey, and keep silent, at my command. _

_ Siuan Sanche _

_ Watcher of the Seals _

_ Flame of Tar Valon _

_ The Amyrlin Seat _

And sealed at the bottom with the Flame of Tar Valon in a circle of white wax as hard as stone.

He realized he was humming “A Pocket Full of Gold” and stopped. “Is this real? You didn’t ...? How did you get this?”

“She did not forge it, if that is what you mean,” Elayne said.

“Never you mind how we got it,” Nynaeve said. “It is real. That is all that need concern you. Wish this I can get you past the guards, if you leave at the same time we do. You said you’d take the letter, if we did that.”

“You can consider it in Morgase’s hands right now.” He did not want to part with the paper—it felt like holding hope itself in his hands—but he folded it back up anyway, and handed it back to Nynaeve. “You wouldn’t happen to have a little coin to go with this, would you? Some silver? A gold mark or two? I hear things are growing expensive these days. What with the wars and all.”

Nynaeve shook her head. “Don’t you have money? You gambled with everyone you could on the trip from Fal Dara.”

“That was a long time ago. While you were off doing whatever it was you were doing, I’ve been sitting here bored out of my mind. And the Aes Sedai aren’t exactly fond of gambling. It doesn’t matter. I can make out.” He and Rand had made do with less while heading to Caemlyn the first time.

“Just you deliver that letter to Queen Morgase, Mat,” Nynaeve said. “And do not let anyone know you have it.”

“I’ll take it to her. I said I would, didn’t I? You would think I didn’t keep my promises.” The look he got from Nynaeve reminded him of a few he had not kept. “I will do it. Blood and—I will do it!”

She stayed awhile longer, and they talked of home for the most part. Elayne sat on the bed, and Nynaeve took the armchair, while he kept his stool. Talk of Emond’s Field made him homesick, and it seemed to make Nynaeve sad, as if they were speaking of something they would never see again. He was sure her eyes moistened, but when he tried to change the subject, she brought it back again, to people they knew, to the festivals of Bel Tine and Sunday, to harvest dances and picnic gatherings for the shearing.

Elayne talked to him of Caemlyn, of what to expect at the Royal Palace and who to speak to, and a little of the city. Sometimes she held herself in a way that made him all but see a crown on her head. A man would have to be a fool to let himself get involved with a woman like her.

They made plans to meet up, and when they told Mat it was today that they meant to leave, he had to stop himself from running over to pack right away. He gave only brief thought to visiting any of the Novices and Accepted he’d had a tumble with during his stay. They would be fine, and this was an opportunity he had waited far too long for. When Nynaeve and Elayne rose to leave, he was sorry to see them go.

He stood, suddenly feeling awkward. “Look, you have done me a favour here. A big favour. I know you’re going to be Aes Sedai”—he stumbled a little on that—“and you will be a queen one day, Elayne, but if you ever need help, if there is ever anything I can do, I will come. You can count on it. Did I say something funny?”

Elayne had a hand over her mouth. “No, Mat,” Nynaeve said smoothly, but her lips twitched. “Just something I have observed about men.”

“You would have to be a woman to understand,” Elayne said.

“Remember Mat, if a woman does need a hero, she needs him today, not tomorrow,” Nynaeve said. The laughter bubbled out of her as she left the room.

He stared at the door closing behind them. Women, he decided for at least the hundredth time, were odd.

Then his eye fell on Elayne’s letter. He thought of the Amyrlin’s blessed, not-to-be-understood, but welcome-as-a-fire-in-winter paper. He danced a little caper in the middle of the flowered carpet.  _ Caemlyn to see, and a queen to meet. Your own words will free me of you, Amyrlin _ .

“You’ll never catch me again,” he laughed. “You’ll never catch Mat Cauthon.”


	34. A Trap to Spring

CHAPTER 31: A Trap to Spring

In a corner the spit dog was lying at its ease. Glaring at it, Nynaeve mopped sweat from her forehead with her hand and leaned her back into doing the work he should have done.  _ I’d not have put it past them to shove me in his wicker wheel instead of letting me turn this Light-forsaken handle! Aes Sedai! Burn them all! _ It was a measure of her upset that she used such language, and another that she barely even noticed she had done it. She did not think the fire in the long, grey stone fireplace would seem any hotter if she crawled into it. She was sure the brindle dog was grinning at her.

Elayne was skimming grease out of the dripping pan under the roasts with a long-handled wooden spoon. The great kitchen went on about its midday routine around them. Even the Novices had grown so used to seeing Accepted there that they hardly even glanced at the two women. Not that the cooks allowed the Novices to dawdle for gawking. Work built character, so the Aes Sedai said, and the cooks saw to it that the Novices built strong character. And that the two Accepted did as well.

Laras, the Mistress of the Kitchens—she was really the chief cook, but so many had used the other for so long that it might as well have been her title—came over to examine the roasts. And the women sweating over them. She was more than merely stout, with layers of chins, and a spotless white apron that could have made three Novice dresses. She carried her own long-handled wooden spoon like a sceptre. It was not for stirring, that spoon. It was for directing those under her, and smacking those who were not building character quickly enough to suit her. She studied the roasts, sniffed disparagingly, and turned her frown on the two Accepted.

Nynaeve met Laras’ look with a level look of her own and kept turning the spit. The massive woman’s face never altered. Nynaeve had tried smiling, but that did nothing to change Laras’ expression. Stopping work to speak to her, quite civilly, had been a disaster. It was bad enough being bullied and chivvied by Aes Sedai. She had to put up with that, however much it rankled and burned, if she was to learn how to use her abilities. Not that she liked what she could do—it was one thing to know Aes Sedai were not Darkfriends for channelling the Power, but quite another to know she herself could channel—yet she had to learn if she was to get back at Moiraine. Hating Moiraine for what she had done to Egwene and the other Emond’s Fielders—and her!—pulling their lives apart and manipulating them all for Aes Sedai purposes, was nearly all that kept her going. But to be treated as a lazy, none-too-bright child by this Laras, to be forced to curtsy and scurry for this woman she could have put in her place with a few well-chosen words back home—that made her grind her teeth almost as much as did the thought of Moiraine.  _ Maybe if I just do not look at her ... No! I will be burned if I’ll drop my eyes before this ... this cow! _

Laras sniffed more loudly and walked away. She rolled from side to side as she crossed the freshly mopped grey tiles.

Still bending with spoon and greasepot, Elayne glowered after her. “If that woman strikes me but once more, I shall have Gareth Bryne arrest her and—”

Laras turned back as if she had heard, her frown deepening, and her mouth opened wide. Before a sound emerged, the Amyrlin Seat entered the kitchen like a whirlwind. Even the striped stole on her shoulders seemed to bristle. For once, Leane was nowhere to be seen.

_ At last _ , Nynaeve thought grimly.  _ And not beforetime, either! _

But the Amyrlin did not glance her way. The Amyrlin did not say a word to anyone. Running her hand across a tabletop scrubbed bone-white, she looked at her fingers and grimaced as if at filth. Laras was at her side in an instant, all smiles, but the Amyrlin’s flat stare made her swallow them in silence.

The Amyrlin stalked about the kitchen. She stared at the women slicing oatcake. She glared at the women peeling vegetables. She sneered into the soup kettles, then at the women tending them; the women became engrossed in studying the surface of the soup. Her frown set the girls carrying plates and bowls out to the dining hall to a run. Her glower put the Novices darting like mice sighting a cat. By the time she had made her way half around the kitchen, every woman there was working twice as fast as she had been. By the time she completed her circuit, Laras was the only one even daring to glance at her.

The Amyrlin stopped in front of the roasting spit, fists on her hips, and looked at Laras. She only looked, expressionless, blue eyes cold and hard.

The large woman gulped, and her chins wobbled as she smoothed her apron. The Amyrlin did not blink. Laras’ eyes dropped, and she shifted heavily from foot to foot. “If the Mother will pardon me,” she said in a faint voice. Making something that might have been meant for a curtsy, she rushed away, so forgetting herself that she joined the women at one of the soup kettles and began stirring with her own spoon.

Nynaeve smiled, keeping her head down to hide it. Elayne kept working, too, but she also kept glancing at the Amyrlin, standing with her back to them not two paces away.

The Amyrlin was spreading her stare across the entire kitchen from where she stood. “If they are this easily cowed,” she muttered softly, “perhaps they really have been getting away with too much for too long.”

_ Easily cowed indeed _ , Nynaeve thought.  _ Pitiful excuses for women. All she did was look at them!  _ The Amyrlin glanced over a stole-covered shoulder, caught her eye for an instant. Suddenly Nynaeve realized she was turning the spit faster. She told herself she had to pretend to be cowed like everyone else.

The Amyrlin’s gaze fell on Elayne, and abruptly she spoke, nearly loud enough to rattle the copper pots and pans hanging on the walls. “There are some words I will not tolerate in a young woman’s mouth, Elayne of House Trakand. If you let them in, I will see them scrubbed out!” Everyone in the kitchen jumped.

Elayne looked confused, and when she noticed the other woman in the kitchen looking her way, she blushed; she looked pretty doing it. Elayne looked pretty doing anything, even crying, or scrubbing pots. That wasn’t why Nynaeve had done the things she’d done last night though. It had just been needed, to ease the girl off to sleep.  _ And after? Why did I let her do those things to me? _ Nynaeve wasn’t sure what madness had come over her, but she couldn’t deny how ... liberating it had felt. Elayne’s touch had been so different from Moiraine’s, gentle and caring; it was like ointment being spread on a wound she hadn’t even known she was carrying.

Things had been a bit awkward this morning, when she’d woken up with Elayne still cuddled against her. The girl had wanted to talk about what had happened between them, but Nynaeve brushed it off and turned the subject firmly towards the Black Ajah. She barely knew what to think of herself, much less Elayne. There had been a time when she would never even have considered doing what she had done last night. Rand and Moiraine had changed that, too, burn them.

“Laras!” The Amyrlin’s roar produced another ripple of jumps, one which Nynaeve was annoyed to find herself taking part in. “Can you find something to teach a girl to speak when they should and say what they should, Mistress of the Kitchens? Can you manage that?”

Laras came waddling faster than Nynaeve had ever seen the woman move before, darting at Elayne to seize her ear, all the while repeating, “Yes, Mother. Immediately, Mother. As you command, Mother.” She hurried the young woman out of the kitchen as if eager to escape the Amyrlin’s stare.

The Amyrlin was now close enough to Nynaeve to touch her, but still looking over the kitchen. A young cook, turning with a mixing bowl in her hands, chanced to catch the Amyrlin’s eye. She gave a great squeak as she scuttled away across the floor.

“Now that we have a bit of privacy, tell me what you’ve found.” The Amyrlin barely moved her lips. It looked as if she were muttering to herself, and from the expression on her face, no one in the kitchen wanted to hear what she was saying. Nynaeve could just make out the words.

Nynaeve turned the spit and kept her head down, trying to look as if she were also muttering under her breath if anyone looked. “I thought you were going to keep a close eye on me, Mother. So I could report in.”

“If I come stare at you every day, Daughter, some would grow suspicious.” The Amyrlin kept up her study of the kitchen. Most of the women seemed to be avoiding even looking in her direction for fear of incurring her wrath. “I planned to have you brought to my study after the midday meal. To scold you for not choosing your studies, so I implied to Leane. But there is news that could not wait. Sheriam found another Grey Man. A woman. Dead as last week’s fish, and not a mark on her. She was laid out as if resting, right in the middle of Sheriam’s bed. Not very pleasant for Sheriam.”

Nynaeve stiffened, and the spit halted for a moment before she put it back to revolving. “Sheriam had a chance to see the lists Verin gave me. So did Elaida. I make no accusations, but they had the chance.”

“I suppose I can keep an eye on them. Have you learned anything useful yet, child?”

“Some. I don’t appreciate you sending Asseil to join me—you said I could pick my own people—but your message was helpful.”

In short, quick sentences, Nynaeve told of the things they had found in the storeroom under the library, and added the conclusions they had reached concerning them. She did not mention Elayne’s dream—or whatever it had been; Elayne insisted it had been real—of  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ . Nor did she speak of the  _ ter’angreal _ Verin had given Elayne. She could not make herself entirely trust the woman wearing the seven-striped stole—or any woman who could wear the shawl, for that matter—and it seemed best to keep some things in reserve.

When she was done, the Amyrlin was silent so long that Nynaeve began to think the woman had not heard. She was about to repeat herself, a little louder, when the Amyrlin finally spoke, still hardly moving her lips.

“I sent no message, Daughter, and certainly not through Asseil. The things Liandrin and the others left were searched thoroughly, and burned after nothing was found. No one would use Black Ajah leavings.”

Nynaeve tried to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. The Amyrlin’s words made her think of bullies taunting smaller children. The bullies were always so contemptuous of the littler children, always so sure the small ones were too stupid to realize what was happening, that they made little effort to disguise their snares. That the Black Ajah was so contemptuous of her made her blood boil. That they could set this snare filled her stomach with ice.

_ Is Asseil working for Liandrin then? _ She would be with the others now, preparing to leave.  _ They could all be in danger! _

The spit had stopped. Hastily she started it turning once more. No-one seemed to have noticed though. They were all still doing their best not to look at the Amyrlin.

“And what do you mean to do about this ... so-obvious trap?” the Amyrlin said softly, still staring over the kitchen, away from Nynaeve. “Do you mean to fall into this one, too?”

Nynaeve’s face reddened. “I know this trap for a trap. Mother. And the best way to catch whoever set a trap is to spring it and wait for him—or her—to come.” It sounded weaker than it had when she had said it to Elayne, after what the Amyrlin had just told her, but she still meant it.

“Perhaps so, child. Perhaps it is the way to find them. If they do not come and find you held tightly in their net.” She gave a vexed sigh. “I will put gold in your room for the journey. And I will let it be whispered about that I have sent you out to a farm to hoe cabbages. Will Elayne be going with you?”

Nynaeve forgot herself enough to stare at the Amyrlin, then hurriedly put her eyes back on her hands. Her knuckles were white on the spit handle. “You scheming old ... Why all the pretence, if you knew? Your sly plots have had us squirming nearly as much as the Black Ajah has. Why?” The Amyrlin’s face had tightened, enough to make her force a more respectful tone. “If I may ask, Mother.”

The Amyrlin snorted. “Putting Morgase back on the proper path whether she wants to go or not will be hard enough without her thinking I’ve sent her daughter to sea in a leaky skiff. This way I can say straight out that it was none of my doing. It may be a bit hard on Elayne, when she finally has to face her mother, but I have more hounds, now. I told you I’d have a hundred if I could.” She adjusted her stole on her shoulders. “This has gone on long enough. If I stay this close to you, it may be noticed. Have you anything more to tell me? Or to ask? Make it quick, Daughter.”

“What is  _ Callandor _ , Mother?” Nynaeve asked. “Why would they want it? It can’t be just a shiny sword.”

This time it was the Amyrlin who forgot herself, half turning toward Nynaeve before jerking herself back. “They cannot be allowed to have that.” Her whisper was barely audible, as if meant for her own ears alone. “They cannot possibly take it, but ...” She took a deep breath, and her soft words firmed enough to be clear to Nynaeve, if to no-one two paces further away. “No more than a dozen women in the Tower know what  _ Callandor _ is, and perhaps as many outside. The High Lords and Ladies of Tear know, but they never speak of it except when a Lord or Lady of the Land is told on being raised. The Sword That Cannot Be Touched is a  _ sa’angreal _ , girl. Only two more powerful were ever made, and thank the Light, neither of those was ever used. With  _ Callandor _ in your hands, child, you could level a city at one blow. If you die keeping that out of the Black Ajah’s hands—you, and Elayne, both—you’ll have done a service to the whole world, and cheap at the price.”

“How could they take it?” Nynaeve asked. “I thought only the Dragon Reborn could touch  _ Callandor _ .”

The Amyrlin gave her a sideways look sharp enough to carve the roasts on the spit. “They could be after something else,” she said after a moment. “They stole  _ ter’angreal _ here. The Stone of Tear holds nearly as many  _ ter’angreal _ as the Tower.”

“I thought the High Lords hated anything to do with the One Power,” Nynaeve whispered incredulously.

“Oh, they do hate it, child. Hate it, and fear it. When they find a Tairen girl who can channel, they bundle her onto a ship for Tar Valon before the day is done, with hardly time to speak goodbyes to her family.” The Amyrlin’s murmur was bitter with memory. “Yet they hold one of the most powerful focuses of the Power the world has ever seen, inside their precious Stone. It is my belief that is why they have collected so many  _ ter’angreal _ —and indeed, anything to do with the Power—over the years, as if by doing so they can diminish the existence of the thing they cannot rid themselves of, the thing that reminds them of their own doom every time they enter the Heart of the Stone. Their fortress that has broken a hundred armies will fall as one of the signs the Dragon is Reborn. Not even the only sign; just one. How that must rankle their proud hearts. Their downfall will not even be the one great sign of the world’s change. They cannot even ignore it by staying out of the Heart. That is where Lords of the Land are raised to High Lords, and where they must perform what they call the Rite of the Guarding four times a year, claiming that they guard the whole world against the Dragon by holding  _ Callandor _ . It must bite at their souls like a bellyful of live silverpike, and no more than they deserve.” She gave herself a shake, as if realizing she had said far more than she had intended.

_ Light, it always comes back to Rand, doesn’t it? Always back to the Dragon Reborn _ . It was still an effort to think of him that way. “What should I do about Asseil?” Nynaeve asked grimly.

“Whatever you need to. But do it outside the city,” the Amyrlin said, matching her tone. “Is that all, child?”

“Yes, Mother,” Nynaeve said. “That’s all.”

The Amyrlin shifted her stole again, frowning at the frenzied scurry in the kitchen. “I’ll have to set this aright. I needed to speak to you without delay, but Laras is a good woman, and she manages the kitchen and the larders well.”

Nynaeve sniffed, and addressed her hands on the spit handle. “Laras is a sour lump of lard, and too handy with that spoon by half.” She thought she had muttered it under her breath, but she heard the Amyrlin chuckle wryly.

“You are a fine judge of character, child. You must have done well as the Wisdom of your village. It was Laras who went to Sheriam and demanded to know how long you two are to be kept to the dirtiest and hardest work, without a turn at lighter. She said she would not be a party to breaking any woman’s health or spirit, no matter what I said. A fine judge of character, child.”

Laras came back into the kitchen doorway then, hesitating to enter her own domain. The Amyrlin went to meet her, smiles replacing her frowns and stares.

“It all looks very well to me, Laras.” The Amyrlin’s words came loud enough for the entire kitchen to hear. “I see nothing out of place, and everything as it should be. You are to be commended. I think I will make Mistress of the Kitchens a formal title.”

The stout woman’s face fluttered from uneasiness to shock to beaming pleasure. By the time the Amyrlin swept out of the kitchen, Laras was all smiles. Her frown returned, though, as she looked from the Amyrlin’s departing back to her workers. The kitchen seemed to leap into motion. Laras’ grim stare settled on Nynaeve.

Turning the spit again, Nynaeve tried smiling at the big woman.

Laras’ frown deepened, and she began tapping her spoon on her thigh, apparently forgetting that for once it had been used for its intended purpose. It left smears of soup on the white of her apron.

_ I will smile at her if it kills me _ , Nynaeve thought, though she had to grit her teeth to do it. Elayne appeared, twisting her face and scrubbing her mouth with her sleeve.

At a stare from Laras, she dashed to the spit and resumed her labours. “Soap,” Elayne muttered thickly, “tastes horrid!”

“We leave after the washing up is done,” Nynaeve told her, “just as quickly as we can gather the others and fetch our belongings from our rooms.” She wished she could share the eagerness that flashed in the Daughter-Heir’s eyes. But then, Elayne didn’t know about Asseil yet. Darkfriend or dupe? How could they know, and how could they take the chance it was the former? Nynaeve spun the spit with gusto as she tried to figure out what to do.

_ Light send we aren’t walking into a trap we can’t get out of. Light send it so _ .

They met up at the East Stable, just before Trine, when most people were sitting down to dinner. Nynaeve wanted to avoid being noticed as best she could, but with such a large group it was inevitable that someone would remark them. She just had to hope it wasn’t anyone they needed to avoid. She had them come in pairs, to lessen the chance of drawing suspicious eyes.

Extensive supplies would be needed for the journey they planned but Nynaeve had been arranging things for the past few days. For all her smarts, Wynifred had struggled with what that task, but Ronelle had proven quite adept at such, as had Shimoku, though it had taken some time for Nynaeve to accept their help. She’d rather keep such important work in hands she could be sure of—her own. Still, when she and Elayne arrived at the stable everything seemed to be in order.

Asseil was already there, looking a bit more composed than she had back in the library, when she’d first learned of their task. If that was when she first learned of it. If not, she would make a fine gleewoman. Theodrin hovered near her, a calm and graceful presence that was nonetheless always aware of Asseil’s actions, just as Nynaeve had asked.

Unfortunately, Mair was there, too, and so was Mat. Judging by the straw sticking to his clothes he’d been hiding out here ever since she told him she could get him out of Tar Valon. Though the look on Mair’s face made Nynaeve wonder if she’d be able to follow through on that before he got himself killed.

“Hey, we both had fun didn’t we? Why so grim?” Mat was saying, grinning in that insolent way he had.

Mair wasn’t at all charmed. “You ruined my reputation! Do you have any idea how many weeds I’ve had to pick? And ... and you went chasing after all those other girls, too!”

“Come on! I didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to,” Mat said, in a singularly terrible attempt at defending himself.

Nynaeve strode over to them before it could go any further. “You’ll be quiet, Matrim Cauthon, if you know what’s good for you. I said I’d get you out of here, I didn’t say anything about the condition you’d be in when you left.”

Mat gave her a sour look but he held his tongue for once.

“Mair. Mair! Look at me.” When the plump woman turned her glare on Nynaeve she matched it with her own. “Go help Ronelle and Emara make sure the packhorses are properly loaded. The last thing we want is to be on the road without enough food. Or gold.” Mair stalked off after shooting one last glower Mat’s way.

They would have to pay to have the horses herded back to Tar Valon once they reached Nesum. It would cost a fortune to have them ferried all the way down the Arindrelle otherwise. She had considered going to Tear by way of Illian, there’d be no need for horses at all then, but she’d heard too much talk of the great rivalry between those two nations to want to risk getting dragged into some conflict. What if the Illianers wouldn’t let ships pass through to Tear, or the Tairens wouldn’t let Illianer ships dock at their city? No, Nesum was the safer and more proven route.

While Nynaeve checked on her troops, Elayne slipped off to attend to an errand of her own. By the time she returned, leading Red, Dani and Ilyena were slipping in through the stable doors, well loaded with travel gear. They were the last of her chosen Accepted to arrive.  _ Fourteen of us, not including Asseil. We’ll outnumber Liandrin when the time comes _ . She hoped that would be enough. If not ...

“What kept you?” Nynaeve asked testily.

“Nothing to be alarmed over,” Dani reassured her. As if she was alarmed! “We just took the long way around, to make it harder for anyone to follow us.”

That was smart of her, but Nynaeve still sniffed, just on general principal.

“Mat. You may have this horse, but on one condition,” Elayne said as she offered him Red’s reins. “Once you arrive in Caemlyn, you are to go to an inn called The Queen’s Blessing and present him to—”

“Basel Gill,” Mat interrupted. “That’s the horse he gave Rand. What are you doing with Rand’s horse? Did he ask you to give him back?” He snorted softly. “That would be just like him.”

Elayne raised her chin in that annoying way she had. “How I acquired him is not your concern, Master Cauthon. But unless you wish to walk to Caemlyn, you will agree to my terms.”

Mat rolled his eyes. “I’d have gone to the Blessing anyway, snoot. It’s the only inn I know in Caemlyn. Sure, I’ll take the horse back to Gill.” He accepted the reins from Elayne, who sniffed at him before gliding off with her nose in the air. At first Nynaeve thought Mat’s angry mutters to be directed at the Daughter-Heir, but when she heard him say something about hoping Red wasn’t as mad as his former owner, she knew better.

They departed just as soon as everything was in order. Several of the others wanted to gallop but Nynaeve kept Muscles to a nice sedate pace. Anything faster would just draw attention. As Mat had said, the guards at the gates that led out of the Tower grounds challenged their passage. They would have let the Accepted pass, of course, but Mat’s face was well known, and he was not to be allowed to leave, one armoured guardsman explained. It was a simple matter for Nynaeve to take him aside and show him the Amyrlin’s letter. The shock and confusion in his wide eyes were not enough to prevent him from saluting sharply and ordering his men to step aside. Mat looked like he was about to say something clever but Nynaeve silenced him with a glare, much as she had been doing since before he was old enough to shave.

Tar Valon was an undeniably beautiful city, but Nynaeve had never been able to love it. It was too firmly wedded to the Aes Sedai in her mind, and for all that she was training to become one, she still didn’t think very highly of that organisation. Seeing the Amyrlin Seat unable to trust all but a handful of her people not to be Darkfriends hadn’t exactly raised the Aes Sedai in her estimation either. She’d have had faith that not a single person in Emond’s Field was a Darkfriend, not even Cenn Buie or the Congars and Coplins. Still, it didn’t hurt to admire the fantastical buildings, and the oddly shaped towers connected by high bridges spanning open air over hundred-foot drops, as she passed. People yet filled the streets, in so many different kinds of clothing that he thought every nation must be represented.

Ogier had built the great buildings and towers of Tar Valon, but other, newer parts had grown under the hands of men. Newer meaning two thousand years in some cases. Down near Southharbour, men’s hands had tried to match, if not duplicate, the fanciful Ogier work. Inns where ships’ crews caroused bore enough stonework for palaces. Statues in niches and cupolas on rooftops, ornately worked cornices and intricately carved friezes, all decorated chandlers’ shops and merchant houses. Bridges arched across the streets here, too, but the streets were cobblestone, not great paving blocks, and many of the bridges were wood instead of stone, sometimes as low as the second stories of the buildings they joined, and never higher than four.

Nynaeve turned aside from the docks and led them to the Daghain Bridge, which arched southeast over the Erinin to the village for which it was named, nestled in the shadow of the Oburun Mountains. Once more the guards challenged them at the sight of Mat, and once more she produced the Amyrlin’s paper and made them step aside. Mat grinned at the men’s consternation and once his horse set foot on the great bridge he let out a loud whoop. Nynaeve let him have his moment, for all that the fool was drawing exactly the kind of attention she didn’t want.

“I really owe you for this, Wisdom,” Mat said once they reached Daghain. “Anytime you need a favour, just ask and it’s yours.” She almost thought he sounded like an adult just then, before deciding she needed to clean her ears out soon.  _ Mat Cauthon an adult? Ridiculous! _

She gripped her braid and gave it a light tug. “You just be sure to take care of yourself, Mat. It’s a long way to Caemlyn and no-one will be there to get you out of trouble this time. Best you avoid getting into it in the first place. I’d say it was best you do that at all times, but knowing you ...”

Mat grinned. “Hey, I can take care of myself.” He fidgeted with Red’s reins, and glanced warily over her shoulder at the great city on the river. You would think needing to be rescued would teach him some humility. She sniffed.

“Well. Get going then. You’ll want to be a long way away by tomorrow morning, I imagine.”

Mat jerked his horse around, towards the mountains, where Braem Pass would take him through to Andor. “You imagine right!” he called, before giving the red stallion a taste of his heels.

Nynaeve watched him gallop off and silently wished him well. He might be a scoundrel, but he was a Therener scoundrel, and that made his welfare her responsibility.

She turned her attention to the women gathered behind her. They were her responsibility now, too. It was a long road to Nesum, one that would take them through lands that were firmly under the White Tower’s control, but she didn’t anticipate a pleasant journey.

Asseil rode quietly besides Theodrin, Nynaeve saw out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t dare look at the woman directly, for fear she would realise Nynaeve knew of the deception. The Taraboner possible-Darkfriend rode a tall piebald gelding; a much finer animal than the Domani’s. Elayne had told her the woman was a minor noble of some sort in Tarabon. Jealous? Ambitious? Such things seemed like they could lead women of poor character to the Shadow. Maybe. She just didn’t know, but she would have to find out soon. And then she would have to do what needed to be done.


	35. Ashes

CHAPTER 32: Ashes

The Mountains of Mist were not the most hospitable of places. Few people from the Theren ventured into them and whatever paths there were through the mountains were uncharted now. Rand imagined there had to be paths of some kind. The people of Manetheren had built their capital city up here; they at least would have had to know their way around. But that knowledge had been lost with their city and their nation.

They picked their way southwards from Eldrene’s Veil—the great waterfall he knew to be not far from Taren’s Ferry—through rough and dangerous terrain, searching for a likely route down into the Theren proper. On the second day of that journey, Rand gave up on finding an easy path. The sun was bright in the eastern sky by then, almost as bright as Elayne’s hair. A wise man did not look too long at the sun, and a wise man would not have stared at the Daughter-Heir of Andor the way he had the night before, during that unfortunate but unforgettable encounter in the dream world. Or  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ , as she had called it.  _ Light, but she was stunning _ . He’d already known that of course, but seeing ... all of her like that had driven the point home with a new intensity.

He and Perrin had agreed to meet up in the Westwood, at Rand’s home. A day was enough time to travel the length of the Theren on the back of a fast horse, so he was almost sure they were roughly due west of Emond’s Field when he decided they would have to climb down.

Abandoning the horses wasn’t easy. He knew he was likely leaving them to their deaths up here, even wartrained as they were. If the wolves didn’t get them, the cold or the scarcity of grazing would. But abandon them he did, after stripping Blackwing of everything useful he thought he could carry while still being able to climb. His sword he moved from his waist to his back, to keep it safely out of the way. Even a moment’s entanglement could be deadly in a situation like this.

His armsmen did the same, showing little reaction to losing their mounts. The three of them had been quieter than usual since the Portal Stone. Like Rand, they had all been through that experience before, but it still took a while to absorb all those strange experiences, as he well knew.

Choosing a climbing path wasn’t easy. They were not at the highest point of the mountains, not even close, but any fall would still be lethal. Rand took his time, leaning out as far as he dared to survey the rocks below, then moving on to a new vantage when he didn’t see a path he liked. He did this several times over before finally spotting one he thought worth risking.

The ropes they had brought with them were not long enough to reach down to the distant Sand Hills, not even when tied end to end, but he did it anyway. At least they would have that much of a safety net on the way down. After securing one end of the rope to a strong-looking crag, Rand threw the rest out over the edge and watched it fall.

“I’ll go first,” he announced. He’d gone climbing in these mountains before, and liked to think himself good at it. “I’ll see if I can spot some good holds once I’m at the bottom of the rope. Wait for my shout before following.”

“My Lord Dragon? Meaning no offense, but it might be best if one of us took point,” Inukai said. “If anything goes wrong ... Peace! Disaster wouldn’t cover it.”

“I’m the lightest. It should be me to go,” Izana put in.

“Weight shouldn’t make a difference here, Izana. That rope could hold all four of us. Besides, I’ve climbed these mountains before. I’ll go first.”

They exchanged dubious glances, but held their silence.

Rand took a moment to look over the landscape arrayed before him. He could see the Westwood from here. Somewhere in that forest was the comfortable farmhouse on which he had been raised. And less than a day’s journey east of there, at the edge of the forest, was Emond’s Field. The village he considered his hometown. Anticipation and dread warred within him. Again he asked himself if it was right for him to come back here, being what he was. And again the answer came. They might need his help, and he could not imagine, at that time, what duty could be pressing enough to make him turn away from them.

Rand knelt, took as firm grip of the rope and eased himself over the edge of the mountain.

The first part of the descent was easy. He just planted his feet on the rock face and walked his way down, climbing hand over hand down the rope. It was when he ran out of rope that things got trickier. Rand disliked the look of the cliff below; too many stretches of sheer rock, with too few handholds. To the right, some thin trees clung with traditional Theren stubbornness to the rocks, but he didn’t want to trust his weight to their roots. To his left was more sheer rock but beyond it were at least two likely looking holds, and the mountain below them slanted outwards slightly. Anything that didn’t go straight down, or worse, inwards, was good in his view.

Rand planted his feet and walked to the right a bit along the cliff, then back left, then right again, building momentum and always keeping a firm grip on the rope. Once he was satisfied, he turned his mid air walk into a run, propelling himself left towards the holds he’d spotted. He managed to snag one with a booted foot on his first attempt, waited a moment to steady himself and adjust his weight, then slid his hands further down towards the end of the rope. Satisfied that he’d judged the distance correctly, he took the rope in one hand, stepped off the hold and let himself drop. The foothold soon became a handhold and once Rand was satisfied that he’d secured it, he leaned out to survey the mountains before him. He grinned at what he saw. And at what he felt. It was just as exhilarating as he’d remembered.

“I think I see a path!” he shouted, still eyeing the ledge he’d spotted. Getting to the nearest handhold to his current position would be a bit tricky, he’d need to use it as a foothold first, and then transfer his hand to it. But he could reach the handhold beyond that easily enough. And from there it was just a short sideways jump to the ledge. “Send the next man down! Once you reach the bottom of the rope you’ll need to run along the rocks to your left to get to the ledge!”

He moved off the first hold to make room for the next climber but waited there, supporting most of his weight on his hands and trying to ignore the growing pain. The next man might need him to point out where to go.

It was Izana who came down the rope next, moving slowly and carefully. He had his sword and the other essentials tied in a bundle across the back of the plain brown coat that all the Shienarans soldiers had brought with them when they first left Fal Dara. Not wanting to be bossy, Rand watched in silence, even though Izana went a bit further down the rope than he would have liked. Only when the young Shienaran turned his pale face to look a question Rand’s way did he speak up.

“Keep a good hold of the rope and run along the wall from side to side until you’ve built up enough speed to reach that hold above me,” he said, gesturing to the stone in question with his chin.

“Understood,” Izana said. He looked down to check the position of his feet and then suddenly tensed up. Rand grimaced. He should probably have told him not to do that.

“We’re pretty high up, yes, but try to put that out of your mind. Put everything out of your mind except reaching the next part of the path. Height, Portal Stones, Trollocs, anything. Burn it all away until you are completely focused on that one thing: the climb. You can do it, Izana. Just imagine we are hopping along a stone railing, only a few feet above the path.”

Izana shuffled his feet against the rock face, pale and sweaty but with his jaw set in determination. “I’ll try,” he said tightly. Back and forth he moved, building momentum, his feet coming closer and closer to the hold Rand had used earlier.

“Almost there, it’s right below your feet. Feel for it on the next pass,” Rand urged.

Izana did as he bid him. Locating the hold with one searching foot, he strained to adjust his balance towards that leg until at last he was securely in place.

“Well done,” Rand said. “You are going to want to keep hold of the rope for this next bit, or as much of it as you can. It won’t stretch all the way. You’ll need to move your hand to the hold that your foot is currently on and then climb down to dangle from it. The hold you’ll be looking for after that is where I currently am.”

While Izana readied himself, Rand shifted his focus to the ledge he’d spotted before. It was wide enough for a man to stand on, and walk even, providing he shuffled sideways. He set his feet and jumped to the side, keeping his eyes on the ledge; he landed smoothly, his grip secured with both hands. He’d be glad to shift his weight back to his feet. He’d been holding on like that for so long that his hands had begun to hurt.

Izana made the next part of the climb with relative ease, dropping lightly from one hold to the next. He shouted out that the rope was free again, looked across at Rand, smiling slightly, and leapt across the gap. His aim was true. His grip was not. One hand struck the ledge before the other did, throwing his weight all out of balance; Izana gasped, hung briefly from the rock and then plummeted towards the distant ground.

Rand had been in the midst of climbing up to the ledge when he saw it happen. He dropped his weight back down and his hand shot out as fast as it could. His fingers brushed against Izana’s coat, but only brushing. His heart skipped a beat and he thought he’d lost another one, but on the second snapping attempt his hand closed around Izana’s wrist.

Izana stared up at him, his eyes huge in his pale face, dangling above the sheer drop to the Sand Hills. “Hold on,” Rand gritted. He had a solid grip on the ledge with his left hand and was able to find some minor purchase with his feet, but he’d still struggle to lift man and pack with one arm, even a man as light as Izana.  _ Do it now _ , he told himself,  _ while your heart is still thumping strength _ . Rand let out a loud and wordless shout as he heaved Izana up towards the ledge. His arm shook, but the Shienaran inched closer and closer towards safety. When Rand had lifted him high enough, Izana seized hold of the ledge once more, and Rand released his grip on his wrist.

Both men were breathing heavily by then, if for different reasons.

“T-Thank you,” Izana stammered. “You saved my l-life.”

“No problem,” Rand grated back. “Just climb. Hug the cliff when you reach your feet.” He gathered himself and set about taking his own advice. Once upright, he was glad of the chance to rest and catch his breath as he watched Rikimaru begin the climb down.

“I’m sorry, Rand,” Izana said quietly. “O-or, m-my Lord Dragon, I meant to say. You shouldn’t have had to risk yourself for me.” He wouldn’t meet Rand’s eyes.

“I have to risk myself for a lot of people,” Rand sighed. “I’m supposed to fight the Dark One after all. Risky seems a pretty mild description for that. And most of those people will be far less deserving than you, Izana. You’ve been a great help these past months, so don’t worry yourself about this, it was no bother at all.”

“Thank you,” he replied, still quietly and still not meeting Rand’s eyes. Shienarans could be odd that way, Rand knew. He thought them a bit over-serious at times, if he was honest, though he’d never be so rude as to say that aloud.

Rikimaru was swinging from hold to hold with the smoothness of an experienced climber when Rand spoke again. “You don’t have to call me that, you know,” he said as they shuffled along the ledge to make room. “The, ah, ‘Lord Dragon’ nonsense, I mean. Do people think I insist on it? Or would be offended if it wasn’t used? I don’t even like the title. I’d prefer to be just Rand.”

“Peace! You should insist on it more!” Izana asserted, before recalling himself and dropping his eyes. “O-or at least I think so. The others, too. You are the Dragon Reborn, the Creator’s own champion. People should show you the proper respect. Myself included.”

“There’s two sides to that coin,” Rand said grimly. “I’m the man who broke the world, too, and who will do it again, apparently. Maybe they should show me the proper hatred as well.”

“No! Never. Besides, even what Lews Therin did was an accident; everyone knows that. The man was mad. You can’t blame insane people for what they do. And I can’t imagine you ever doing something like that, certainly not deliberately.”

“You’re kind to say so,” Rand said. Izana’s earnestness was flattering and Rand hadn’t the heart to argue with him further. That didn’t mean he agreed with the man’s words though. Not at all.

What he could see of the path ahead pleased him. There was a series of natural buttresses, which would make for an easy descent. And beyond those he spotted a nice chimney. From there ... well they’d want to avoid that escarpment to the west but if they could reach the slope below it they’d be able to slide down the rest of the way pretty easily.

Slide they did, down the lower slope of the mountain and then down the Sand Hills, too. Rand grinned as he watched the green grass of the Theren rush up to meet him. He almost felt like his old self again; he almost felt free. But only for a moment. The memory of all that had passed in the last year, and the knowledge of the duties yet to come could not be so easily banished. Nor, he was forced to allow, should they be.

He led his small band down the familiar paths of the Westwood towards the meeting point he’d agreed on with Perrin. He wasn’t sure what he would find there, and all of his imaginings jangled his nerves, but what the woods revealed, when they abruptly thinned, was worse than anything he’d imagined. He found ... nothing.

The tidy farmhouse, the home of Rand’s childhood, was gone.

He’d told himself again and again that his old life was over, but he realised then that some secret part of him had never truly accepted it. It was only now, staring at the blackened ruins of his lost home that the truth rested its full weight upon his weary shoulders. There was no going back.

Only the stone-walled sheep pen still stood, railed gate open and hanging by one hinge. The soot-blackened chimney cast a slanting shadow across the tumbled and burned beams of the farmhouse. The barn and the tabac-curing shed were only ashes. Weeds choked the tabac field and the vegetable garden, and the garden had a trampled look; most of what was not sawleaf or feathertop lay broken and brown. The burned wood had been slicked and dulled by past rains. Rand knew that Chokevine needed a month or so to grow that tall. It had even enveloped the plough and harrow lying beside the field; rust showed under the pale, narrow leaves. In another few months, even those traces of the farm this had once been would have faded close to nothing.

“The Wheel Turns for all things,” he sighed. But what of Tam? Had it turned for him as well?

“My Lord Dragon?” Inukai said.

“Never mind. Search the area please,” Rand said quietly.

His steps dragged as he made his way towards the ruins of his home. Fire was a terrible way to die. Even the thought of it was like a knife stabbing at his chest. Rand was only dimly aware of the three Shienarans fanning out behind him. His thoughts were full of memories.

The door the Trollocs had kicked down on that fateful Winternight was gone to ash. Tam had never seen a Trolloc before that night, and he hadn’t used his sword in decades, but he’d still filled the doorway with their bodies, protecting Rand. His own first encounter with the beast-men had been significantly less heroic.

The kitchen where Rand had often prepared their meals. The precious books that Tam had taught him how to read. The bed in which he’d taken Rand’s virginity back when he was seven and the other, bigger bed in which Rand had later slept—as often as not, with his father’s hairy bulk pressed protectively against him. The doorways that Tam would sometimes surprisingly appear in, naked and hard-bodied, his cock jutting out before him and leading the way to Rand. The chair Tam liked to relax in after a hard day’s work on the farm, and which Rand had often knelt before to suck on his father’s manhood and ease his burdens—how big Tam’s balls had felt, back when Rand was young!—yet he’d always cradled them gently in his hands when he was trying to suck the cream from them; and he’d always drank that hot cream down, too, when Tam let it spill in his son’s mouth. The chest in which Rand had kept the mementos of his childhood. All of it was gone now.

Rand picked through the charred rubble, searching for bones and praying not to find any. It occurred to him that he had all but been Tam’s wife in the years since Kari died. He hadn’t minded, though he knew enough now to realise that most people would do more than look askance at their relationship if they knew of it. Rand had never told anyone, nor did he plan to.

Shorn of its roof and walls, the house seemed smaller somehow. How had they both fit in it? Tam had barely fit in Rand, when he was little. It had hurt sometimes, but he’d learned to bear with it and not to make his father feel bad by grimacing or crying out. Eventually it had stopped hurting altogether and Rand had come to love the feeling of having his father’s cock inside his body, riding him, loving him.

He found no bones in the burned house, so he turned his attention to the rest of the farm, which Izana and the others were picking through.

Rand had felt a little guilty at having dragged poor Bela with him across Valgarda, but now he was relieved that he had. The barn that had been her home was gone, too. Had she been here, she might well have burned with it. He and Tam had done it in there as well. Despite everything, a brief smile quirked Rand’s lips at the recollection. Bela had looked almost scandalised as she watched them back then, snuffling curiously at Rand’s face as he leant against her stall, bent over with his trousers around his ankles and his father standing behind him, breeding him like a stallion breeds his mare. Rand hadn’t come that time but that was no matter. He’d been too busy laughing over Bela’s reactions to care. Once he was done, Tam had laughed, too, and given the shaggy mare a few extra apples as an apology for disturbing her.

_ What should I do with her? _ he thought now. He’d brought Bela home with him, safe among their group’s packhorses. It had been his intention to leave her here on the farm, safe and happy. But now there was no farm, just ruins and overgrown fields.

It never took long for the fields to become so when they were left unattended. That hadn’t always been a terrible thing though. The long grass had afforded them privacy that time back when Rand was ... eleven? Twelve? Young enough that Tam had still seemed a giant, anyway. It had been hot that summer and the work had strained both their endurances. But it hadn’t strained Tam so much that he failed to enjoy the sight of a sweaty, shirtless Rand working alongside him. His father had bounced him in his lap that day, as they knelt naked among the tabac, his cock spreading Rand’s hole and his arms wrapped around Rand’s chest. Between the sun, their mingled sweat, and the heat of Tam’s body pressing against his own, Rand had felt as though he were being scalded. None of that had stopped him from moaning wantonly right up until the moment his father filled his butt with hot come. After finishing, Tam had noticed that his ministrations had caused Rand to become hard. He’d hesitated only a moment before reaching around and running his callused hand along Rand’s young shaft, and soon, very soon, he’d brought his son to a screaming orgasm out beneath the blue sky of the Theren. Rand could recall his chuckle as though it were yesterday. “You’re growing up, lad. It won’t be long before you have every girl in Emond’s Field chasing after you.”

“I am grown,” Rand whispered now, so low that only he could hear. “So why do I feel like a child all of a sudden?”

The Shienarans had finished their search by then. Each man shook his head solemnly at Rand’s look. So Tam hadn’t died here. That was good, of course, but Rand felt little relief. There were many reasons that an enemy might not leave him or his body behind. All they really knew was that someone had attacked and destroyed the al’Thor farm.

At least there were still apples on the trees. They’d abandoned most of their food and water supplies with the horses, but they wouldn’t have to go hungry while they waited for the others to arrive. Rand dumped his gear beside the burnt remains of the house, keeping only the sword with him, and told the Shienarans to take whatever they pleased. “The apples aren’t half bad,” he said in a flat voice.

He couldn’t help but notice the concerned way they were looking at him, but did not want to talk about it just then. And perhaps not ever. He left them behind and went to wander the grounds. There was another duty he’d left unattended for far too long.

Was this attack directed at Tam specifically, most likely for the crime of being Rand’s father, or had other farms in the Theren been burnt, too? Or, worse, entire villages? For a moment, Rand was tempted not to wait for Perrin at all. They could probably make it to Emond’s Field by Midnight if they ran. But what good could he and three armsmen do there? No, it would be better to go with the entire group. There were others though, closer to hand.

Anna was the last of the al’Tolans now, with Jorge having died on Winternight. Her farm was likely in as bad a condition as the al’Thor one by now, though hopefully it was still standing at least.

Rand’s other neighbours however, the Aydaers, had a large family. Sascya Aydaer was a younger daughter, so she’d been married off to Oren Dautry, who was also the last of his family and so owned a sizable farm in the Westwood. Her eldest sister stood to inherit the wealthy—wealthy by Theren standards anyway—furniture business, when their mother died. Sascya and her husband, meanwhile, had had three children since moving out here. Rand knew all three, though one better than the others.

_ I should go check on them. Half an hour’s walk there, another back. I can gather flowers along the way, too _ .

“I’m going to go look in on the neighbours,” Rand announced. “Wait here in case anyone shows up.”

“Only needs one of us for that,” Inukai said, through the apple he was munching on. “I’ll stay, but the others should go with you. In case there’s trouble.”

Rand would have preferred privacy, but he’d already resigned himself to its rarity. Why would coming back to the Theren have changed that? He led them back into the woods, along the familiar path to the Aydaer farm. They passed the spot where he and Tod had made whistles out of leaves, when Rand had been fifteen and Tod seventeen. Music was what Tod loved most. He’d confessed as much then and Rand, feeling close to him, had starting thinking the things he always thought when he felt close to someone.

Tod hadn’t reacted to the kiss the way Rand had been expecting. He’d frozen up at first and when Rand, confused by his lack of reaction, tried to use his tongue the way Tam liked, Tod had shoved him away roughly.

“Let me go!” he’d yelled. “What do you think you’re doing!? What’s wrong with you?”

Rand had been a little hurt by the older boy’s rejection. “I ... just wanted to make you happy,” he’d said in a small voice.

“By stealing my first kiss!?” a red-faced Tod had demanded.

“Or more, if you like,” Rand had offered, still in that small voice.

Tod was incredulous. “I-I’m not gonna give my virginity over to you!” he’d scoffed before stalking off home. They didn’t play together again for several weeks after that, and when they ran into each other in Emond’s Field, Tod would always turned the other way. He’d had it from Mat that Tod was asking questions about him around town, but no-one had had anything untoward to tell him. Rand had been trained in discretion by Tam after all. When Tod caught his eye on those days Rand would only look at him sadly. He never mentioned what had happened where anyone else might hear, of course. Perhaps that was what had persuaded Tod to stop avoiding him.

Rand didn’t try to kiss him again and they settled into a comfortable awkwardness for a while, their friendship now coloured by the truth that Tod could have had Rand any time he wanted. Tod would jokingly call him “the Trolloc who stole my purity”, from time to time, which Rand was fine with hearing, until the day he wasn’t.

“I don’t think the ‘Trolloc’ part is really necessary,” he’d objected testily, while they relaxed in the woods mid-way between their houses. “I mean, I don’t look like a Trolloc, do I?”

“Worse,” Tod said solemnly. He’d proven immune to Rand’s sulky glare, too.

“So I’m really that unattractive? That’s a mean thing to say, Tod. I mean, it’s fine that you don’t ever think of me that way, but you don’t have to rub it in. You’re really handsome, I’m not embarrassed to say that, even if you’re only my friend.”

“Stop being weird,” was all Tod had said, after an uncomfortable silence.

Rand hadn’t realised that he was, as Tod called it, “weird” up until recently, and still didn’t like hearing it said. He sat up from the log that they’d been leaning against, annoyed by Tod’s words. It was then that he noticed the suspicious bulge in the older boy’s trousers.

“Hey!” he’d crowed, “I thought you said I wasn’t attractive.”

Tod had tried to cover himself with a strategically placed knee. “That’s nothing. I was just thinking about some girl’s from Emond’s Field. That you’re nearby had nothing to do with it.”

“Convenient excuse, that. Since I’m always nearby. It’s only a half hour’s walk between our houses.”

“I know. It’s ... very convenient,” Tod had said stiffly. He seemed tense, and Rand had a lot of experience at making older men less tense, but he well recalled Tod’s reaction to his last offer and so did nothing.

The silence stretched for minutes, before Tod spoke again. “Rand, you really don’t mind? Aren’t you embarrassed?”

Rand blinked at him.  _ Should I be? _ he’d thought. The idea had never occurred to him before.

“No,” was all he’d said.

Tod shifted himself closer. “I see. I ... don’t think I can hold back ... so it’s okay, right?”

“Sure,” Rand had said cheerfully. Tod produced his cock and Rand was happy enough to assume the position, dropping his own trousers and kneeling over the log.

It was not the most romantic encounter he’d ever had, even back then, and any pleasure he felt at the feel of Tod’s cock poking its way past his tight entrance for the first time was drowned out by the nagging worry that there really was something wrong with him, as Tod had implied. Though Tod was the elder, he was more inexperienced than Rand, and came really quickly.

He lasted longer on the other occasions, when he’d meet up with Rand in the woods to unload his balls in the other boy’s ass. He stopped calling Rand a Trolloc, but he never admitted that he found him attractive, no matter how many times he fucked him. The closest he came to a compliment, in that regard, was when he groaned out that fucking Rand felt much better than wanking.

Sometimes he liked to taunt Rand while they were doing it, too. He would call him a little slut, among other things, even though Rand was already taller than him. It seemed to excite Tod to whisper those things, but Rand didn’t much care for it. Once, when Rand was bent over against a certain tree with Tod pounding away at him and gasping those taunts, Rand had been sorely tempted to tell him about the time that his mother, Sascya, had bent over against that very same tree and offered herself to Rand. He could have described in great detail the way her bottom quivered from the impact of Rand’s hips, and how fascinating he’d found the swaying of her big, round breasts as they hung freely before her ... but that wouldn’t have been fair to Sascya, and Rand was too well conditioned to value discretion to vent his annoyance at Tod’s jibes in such a manner. He hadn’t been as brazen in approaching other partners afterwards though. For the most part anyway.

“My Lord Dragon, are you well?” Izana asked concernedly. His voice brought Rand back to the present.

_ No, I’m not _ . “I’m fine, Izana,” he sighed. The woods were as quiet as he remembered, if not quite as peaceful anymore.  _ Or perhaps it’s me. The peace of before was in me. And now I bring the strife as well, to myself and to the Theren _ .

The Aydaer farm was bigger than the al’Thor one, though still not very large by Theren standards. The Cauthons, for example, had a much bigger place. Even with the greater size, Rand imagined it was a tight fit for Sascya and her family. He knew that Tod and Jared and Missi all had separate rooms, if small ones. And the room that Sascya shared with Oren Dautry wasn’t particularly huge either. It was there that he’d first seen her naked, when he’d come to call on Tod only to find that all the men of the house were off to Emond’s Field to see the tabac traders. Little Missi had let him in, but been too shy to answer his questions, so when she ran off to her room a perplexed Rand had gone looking for Mistress Aydaer, to ask after Tod. He’d found her on her bed, nude, with one hand working between her legs and the other reaching down behind to poke a finger between her fleshy cheeks. He’d always thought her pretty but seeing her like that, with her eyes squeezed shut and her lip caught between her teeth, he’d been instantly smitten.

Of course, he’d fled the house before she could realise his intrusion.

That house stood quiet now. Rand surveyed it from the edge of the trees. That it was unburnt gave him hope, as did the well cared for tools he saw leaning against the nearest wall. He snorted when he recognised one of the hoes as Tam’s. Oren Dautry was a great one for asking to borrow things and then never returning them. It had always irritated his father to have to go seek the man out and ask for the return of the things he’d lent him months ago. Rand didn’t much like Master Dautry either and wouldn’t have felt bad about cuckolding him even if it hadn’t been much more Sascya’s business than his.

Despite the lack of damage, Rand approached cautiously. Rikimaru made a point of walking ahead of him, and kept his hand near his sword, ready to draw. Izana stuck close to Rand’s side. They walked around the outside of the house first, peering in any unshuttered window they could find.

He saw Sascya’s bed again, neatly made now. He’d had her for the first time in that bed, months after seeing her masturbate. He’d volunteered to go and fetch back all Tam’s bothered tools during that time, anything for an excuse to visit. He’d commiserated with Sascya over the inheritance that her sister would claim ahead of her, and listened sympathetically to her complaints about Master Dautry’s more irritating habits. He hadn’t complimented her, not with words anyway; that had seemed too forward. But he’d stared, oh had he stared. Sascya’s cheeks would flush ever so slightly when she noticed his look. He hadn’t thought her at all offended, and he’d been right.

The men of the house were away in Emond’s Field again when she made her move. They’d been talking about Rand’s mother; she was saying something about how much he must miss her when she conjured a reason to reach over and claim something from the cupboard behind him. She’d leaned close, her face mere inches from his and her warm breath tickling his skin. Her eyes met his and widened at what they say there. Even as young as he’d been, Rand knew enough to see an opportunity that should not be missed. He’d kissed her lips and she’d responded immediately. Within moments, they were in her room. He’d taken her there on the bed, in much the same position he’d seen her in all that time ago, but this time Rand was atop her and it was his cock and not her fingers that ravaged her wet pussy, his finger that probed at her tight little ass while he clutched her womanly buttocks. They’d tried to be quiet but the moan Sascya let out the first time she came for him had been loud enough that Rand worried that Missi might have heard. If her mother shared that fear, she didn’t show it. She was too busy hugging Rand to her soft breasts as she grinded her crotch against him, eager for more. He’d been much, much more than happy to give it to her.

She told him never to speak of it, of course, and tried to impress on him that it was a onetime thing. She seemed worried he’d start pestering her for sex at every opportunity but Rand told her plainly that he wouldn’t bother her at all. It would be up to her to initiate things, if she wanted to. “But anytime the mood takes you, all you’ll have to do is crook your finger and I’ll come running,” he’d told her with a grin. She hadn’t crooked it that often, but when she had, he’d always kept his word.

The rest of the house looked as empty as her bed now was, but nothing about what he saw suggested foul play to Rand. He suspected the Aydaers had left only recently. Once they had completed their circuit of the house, he knocked on the door and called out a greeting before trying to open it. It proved securely locked, something that Rand took as a good sign. If someone had come and taken the Aydaers they would hardly have locked up after themselves.

“Everything seems to be in order here,” Rand said. His house had not been destroyed as part of a widespread attack. It had been targeted and deliberate. He thought that he should feel more vengeful about that. But he only felt sad. “Let’s head back.”

He took a different route back to his former home, swinging wide to visit a certain field where his mother’s favourite wildflowers had grown. His armsmen stared at him as he strolled through the tall grass, picking a sizable bouquet as he went. Rand had no interest in explaining it to them.

When he arrived back, he found Inukai pacing restlessly. There was still no sign of Perrin. He took the flowers to a certain spot, one where a marker had once stood. Whoever had destroyed his home had destroyed that, too, the Light burn them.

Rand knelt on Kari’s grave and laid the flowers down. It had been his custom ever since she died, but he’d missed the anniversary of her death this year. He didn’t think she’d hold it against him though. He’d hardly known her in life, at least not in this life, but in other worlds and other lives, he’d known her very well indeed.

“Rest in peace ... mom,” he said softly.

When Rand rose again he noticed Izana watching him. “I’m sorry if I’m intruding, my Lord Dragon,” he said diffidently.

“It’s fine. I grew up here, as you’ve probably gathered. I kept telling people in Fal Dara that I wasn’t a lord, just a shepherd, and here’s the proof at last.”

Izana shook his head. “You were a lord though. You just didn’t know it at the time. And you are definitely a lord now.” Rand sighed.

After a moment’s fidgeting, Izana spoke again. “Do you have any siblings here, my Lord Dragon? Or other family members? I imagine you’ll want us to extend our protection to them as well.”

“No siblings,” Rand said. Though he’d always wondered what it would have been like. He would have liked to have had a huge family. “It was just my father and I here, for the most part.”

“You must have been lonely,” Izana said softly, then his pale cheeks coloured and he straightened up as he might have done while under one of Uno’s best tongue-lashings. “I apologise, my Lord Dragon.”

“Honestly, Izana, I’ve told you. Rand is fine,” he sighed. He wasn’t sure what drove him to keep speaking, perhaps just a perverse desire to subvert that Shienaran formality, but he found himself admitting something he usually would have kept to himself. “And yes, I was lonely.”


	36. Homecoming

CHAPTER 33: Homecoming

The journey into the Westwood that had taken him perhaps half a dozen strides or so in the wolf dream, out of the mountains and across the Sand Hills, lasted three long days on horses. The Aiel had no trouble keeping up afoot, but then the animals themselves could not manage much speed with the land mostly up and down as it was. Perrin’s wounds itched fiercely, healing; Zarine’s ointment seemed to be working.

It was a quiet journey by and large, broken more often by the bark of a hunting fox or the echoing cry of a hawk than by anyone speaking. At least they saw no more ravens. More than once he thought Zarine was about to bring her mare over close to him, about to say something, but each time she restrained herself.

She and the two Aiel women kept to themselves, Bain and Chiad striding along on either side of Swallow when one or the other was not ranging ahead. Sometimes the three of them murmured softly among themselves, after which they avoided looking at him so pointedly that they might as well have thrown rocks. Loial rode with Hurin, Min and Anna. The situation with Zarine obviously upset him no end; his ears twitched as if he wished he had never heard of humans. Gaul seemed to find the entire thing vastly amusing; whenever Perrin looked at him, he wore an inward grin.

Moiraine reasserted her command over the group, now that she thought Perrin and Zarine had learned whatever lesson they were supposed to have learned. She had Lan and the Shienarans scout the area around the Waygate thoroughly before letting them break camp. The Warder brought back disturbing news: the Trollocs they’d fought in the Ways had not been the first group to pass through this way.

Hearing that, Perrin travelled wrapped in worry, and kept his strung bow across the tall pommel of his saddle. Trollocs had returned to the Theren. That was bad enough, but did this man called Slayer rove the Theren only in the wolf dream, or was he in the waking world, too? Perrin suspected the latter, and that Slayer was the one who had shot the hawk for no reason. It was another complication he could do without, on top of the Children of the Light.

His family lived on a sprawling farm more than half a day beyond Emond’s Field, almost to the Waterwood. They’d had a house in Emond’s Field itself but that had been burned in the first Trolloc attack. His father and mother, his sisters, and his baby brother had said they’d be moving in with his Aunt Magde and Uncle Eward after that. Paetram would be nine now, no doubt objecting more strenuously than ever to being called the baby, Deselle a plump twelve, and Adora sixteen, probably ready to braid her hair. Magde and Eward were cousins, stout and looking nearly alike, and had children of their own. They might have a grandchild by now. May had married Saml Cole the year before Perrin left the Theren. Toren, and even Emi, might have married by now, come to think of it. Aunt Neain, who visited Uncle Carlin’s grave every morning, and their children, and Great-Aunt Ealsin, who had never married, with her sharp nose and sharper eye for discovering what everyone for miles around was up to. Once apprenticed to Master Weyland, he had seen his extended family only on feastdays; the distance was too great for casual travel, and there had always been work to do. If the Whitecloaks hunted for Aybaras, they were easy to find. They were his responsibility, not this Slayer. He could only do so much. Protect his family, and friends. That was first. Then came the village, and the wolves, and this Slayer last. One man could not manage everything.

The Westwood grew on stony soil broken by bramble-covered out-crops, a hard, thickly treed land with few farms or paths. He had wandered these heavy woods as a boy, alone or with Rand and Mat, hunting with bow or sling, setting snares for rabbits or simply roaming for the sake of roaming. Bushy-tailed squirrels chittering in the trees, speckled thrushes warbling on branches imitated by black-winged mockers, bluebacked quail bursting up out of the brush in front of the travellers—all spoke to him of home. The very smell of the dirt the horses’ hooves turned was a recognition.

They angled northward through the forest, finally crossing the wide, rough track called the Quarry Road as the sun slanted down toward the treetops. Why “quarry” no one in the Theren knew, and it scarcely looked a road at all, only a weedy stretch that you did not even notice was bare of trees until you saw the overgrown ruts from generations of wagons and carts. Sometimes shards of old pavement worked their way to the surface. Perhaps it had led to a quarry for Manetheren.

The farm they sought lay not far from the road, beyond rows of apple and pear trees where fruit was setting. Perrin smelled the farm before he saw it. The smell of char; not new, yet a full year would not soften that smell.

He reined in at the edge of the trees and sat staring before he made himself ride into what had been the al’Thor farm.

He did not even think of nocking an arrow. The fire was weeks old. The Aiel advanced carefully, though, spears ready and eyes wary. At least they did, until Inukai stepped out from behind an apple tree on the far side of the farm and waved a hand in greeting.

“Bloody fool could have met us straight away,” Geko complained at the sight of his cousin, but he sounded relieved and there was a grin on his scarred face.

The two groups came together again amidst the remains of the al’Thor farm. Min galloped ahead, demanding to know if Rand was safe. Perrin didn’t need to hear Izana’s answer. The Shienarans would hardly have been acting so casually if Rand had been hurt. He frowned when the lad—he was of an age with Perrin in truth, but something about him made him seem younger—added that Rand was over by the graveside.

“What grave?” Anna said sharply.

“He said it was his mother’s,” Izana replied.

“Oh. Not ... not Tam’s then. That’s good.” She grimaced, and her thoughts turned inward.

“We searched the area when we arrived but found no bodies,” Izana told them.

Min hadn’t stayed to hear the rest. As soon as she heard about the grave she had turned her feet towards the direction Izana nodded.

Loial had dismounted at the edge of the fruit trees, though he still had to duck his head to avoid the branches. Now he paced around the farmstead. “So this is where he grew up,” he murmured. His eyes seemed to be recording every detail they could see. For the book, Perrin didn’t doubt.

“This place is not safe,” said Moiraine. “It was a mistake to return.”

“The Lord Dragon willed it. So it was done. As it always should be,” Masema said intensely. Of the Borderlanders arrayed around the Aes Sedai, only Lan looked a rebuke at the man for his disrespectful words. Areku was wearing a sad smile as she surveyed the ruined farm.

For himself, Perrin had more pressing concerns. It was very nearly more than he could do to stop from putting Stepper to a gallop, keeping him there all the way to his family’s farm. Trying to, at least; even Stepper would fall dead before he ran that far. Maybe this was Trolloc work. If it was Trollocs, maybe his family was still working their farm, still safe. He drew a deep breath, but the char obliterated any other smell.

Gaul stopped beside him. “Whoever did this is long gone. They killed some of the sheep and scattered the rest. Someone came later to gather the flock and drive it off north. Two men, I think, but the tracks are too old to be sure.”

“Is there any clue to who did it?” Gaul shook his head. It could have been Trollocs. Strange, to wish for a thing like that. And foolish. The Whitecloaks knew his name, and they knew Rand’s as well, it seemed.  _ They know my name _ . He looked at the ashes of the al’Thor farmhouse, and Stepper moved as the reins trembled in his hands.

Zarine rode toward Perrin, studying his face, her mare stepping delicately. “Is this ...? Do you know the people who lived here?”

They hadn’t shared their plans with her. Rand didn’t trust her. But Perrin saw no point in keeping it back now. “Rand and his father.”

“Oh. I thought it might be ...” The relief and sympathy in her voice were enough to finish the sentence. “Does your family live near?”

“No,” he said curtly, and she recoiled as if slapped. But she still watched him, waiting. What did he have to do to drive her away? More than he could bring himself to, if he had not managed it already.

The shadows were growing longer, the sun sitting on the treetops. He reined Stepper around, rudely turning his back on her. “We will have to camp here tonight I suppose. But I want to start early in the morning.” He sneaked a glance over his shoulder; Zarine was riding back to the Maidens, sitting stiff in her saddle. “In Emond’s Field, they will know ...” Where the Whitecloaks were, so he could turn himself in before they hurt his family. If his family was all right. If the farm where he had been born was not already like this. No. He had to be in time to stop that. “They’ll know how things are.”

“Early, then.” Gaul hesitated. “You will not drive her off. That one is almost  _ Far Dareis Mai _ , and if a Maiden loves you, you cannot escape her however hard you run.”

“You let me worry about Zarine.” He softened his voice; it was not Gaul he wanted to be rid of. “I need to speak to Rand.”

He found his old friend where he knew he’d find him, standing over Kari al’Thor’s grave. Min was standing behind him with her arms wrapped around his waist. Her forehead rested against his back. As he watched, Rand put his hand over hers and gave it a light squeeze.

“Are you okay?” Min asked softly.

Rand hesitated for a long time before answering. “No. I’m never okay anymore. Maybe I never was. But I’ll endure. Don’t worry about me.”

Min didn’t respond with words, she just hugged him harder.

Perrin was reluctant to interrupt, not least because he knew something about Min that Rand didn’t seem to. In addition, there was what had happened between him and Rand during their last meeting in the wolf dream. He expected Rand would have harsh words for him over that, and rightly so. But with his family at risk he had no choice but to forge ahead. Perrin cleared his throat and felt a little flash of guilt when Min sprang away from Rand, looking suddenly wary.

“I’m glad you all made it safely through the Portal Stones, Rand. And I’m sorry about ... a lot of things,” he said stiffly, “like what happened to your home. They’re all getting ready to set up camp back there now.”

“Thanks, Perrin,” Rand said solemnly. He studied him for a moment, then continued. “We don’t need to camp here, unless your lot are too tired to continue. We both know the Westwood well enough to travel it at night, I’d say. And the quicker we reach Emond’s Field the better.”

“I’d ... I’d appreciate that,” Perrin said gratefully.

Moiraine objected, of course. And Rand argued with her. Also, of course. He won the way he usually did, by ignoring her and doing as he pleased. When everyone but her and Lan trailed after Rand, the Aes Sedai was left with little choice but to come, too.

Rand and the three armsmen who had accompanied him to Stedding Tsofu took the time to change back into their armour before leaving, with Areku volunteering to help Rand buckle on his plate. Perrin had always had difficulty accepting the idea of a female soldier, and he’d thought Rand shared his misgivings, given how stiff he acted around her. But the soft words he overheard between them cast that stiffness in a new light. Areku sounded sad when she commented that Rand really was the farmer he’d always claimed to be, while saying that the land here was lovely and reminded her of her own family’s farm. His own words matched hers for sadness, when he pointed out that his days as a farmer were as done for as his home was. She sighed as she helped him buckle on his breastplate. After a minute, Rand whispered that he was sorry how things had gone, but that he couldn’t help but be who and what he was. Perrin turned his attention elsewhere after that, sure now that he knew what had happened between them.

They had to shift some gear from the packhorses to other animals to allow the four men to secure new mounts, their previous ones having been lost in the mountains, they said. Rand rode Bela when they set off down the Quarry Road. The unassuming brown mare suddenly seemed a strange mount to Perrin’s eyes, for all that he’d seen Rand with her many times when they were younger. In his fine red and gold coat, with the polished steel armour buckled on over it and the silver and ruby ring he always wore now shining on his finger, he did not look the kind of man who would ride a horse like Bela. Perrin wondered what the folk from home would make of him.  _ And me, for that matter. My eyes ... _

There was little talk as they rode down the dark but still familiar road. With Trollocs at large, everyone was more intent on listening for any strange sounds in the woods than on chatting. The only exception came early in their journey, when Rand turned a sly smile Loial’s way and told him that Erith had asked after him. She’d seemed quite worried, and sad that Loial hadn’t some to visit with them, to hear Rand tell it. Loial’s flustered denials had gone on for quite some time, and Min hadn’t helped at all by asking, with exaggerated innocence and after sharing a conspiratorial smile with Rand, for Loial to describe this Erith woman to her. Lan eventually ended the Ogier’s torment by calling sternly for silence and reminding them of the danger.

He had little to complain of after that. The Aiel were silent in their soft boots, and the horses’ hooves made little more noise on the dirt track.

Dawn was still a ways off when they came out of the Westwood a little below the village, amid cart tracks and paths, most bordered by hedges or low rough stone walls.

Perrin could see clearly in the moonlight and was relieved to find the village undamaged. Whatever or whoever had destroyed the al’Thor place hadn’t come here. It gave him hope that his own family would be safe.

Rand and Anna shared his relief. “Worried for nothing,” Anna muttered, then glanced at Perrin. “Hopefully.”

“It’d be a bit rude to wake the al’Veres at this hour,” said Rand. “And I don’t think we’ll all fit in the Winespring anyway. Let’s set up camp on the Green.”

There was no sign of the makeshift militia that they’d seen the night they left Emond’s Field with Moiraine, but their nighttime return a year later did not go completely unnoticed. Rowan Hurn poked his head out a window and gaped at the sight of so many riders. “Whitecloaks?” he said, blinking sleepily. Uno, in his yellow surcoat with the black hawk of Shienar on the chest, opened his mouth angrily but Perrin spoke up before the one-eyed man could launch into one of his foul-mouthed tirades.

“Not Whitecloaks. It’s just us, Master Hurn. Perrin and Rand and Anna. We’ve come back. Go back to sleep, everything’s well.”

He heard voices from the house as they rode past, Mistress Ahan demanding to know what her husband was doing opening windows at this hour.

They rode slowly through hard-packed dirt streets between thatched roofed houses that mostly clustered around the Green, where the Winespring itself gushed from a stone outcrop with enough force to knock a man down and gave birth to the Winespring Water. The damage he remembered from Winternight a year gone, the burned houses and charred roofs, were all rebuilt and repaired. The Trollocs might as well never have come back then. He prayed no-one would have to live through that again. The Winespring Inn stood practically at the eastern end of Emond’s Field, between the stout wooden Wagon Bridge across the rushing Winespring Water and a huge old stone foundation with a great oak growing up through the middle of it. Tables beneath the thick branches were where folk sat of a fine afternoon and watched the play at bowls. At this hour, the tables were empty, of course. There were only a few houses farther east. The inn itself was river rock on the first floor, with a whitewashed second story jutting out all the way around and a dozen chimneys rising above a glittering red tile roof, the only tile roof for miles.

At Rand’s word, they dismounted on the Green and began raising their tents. No-one objected that the three Thereners stood apart from that task. Min even took the tentlines out of Anna’s hands, saying she could take care of it for her. So the three of them stood together, looking around the sleeping village.

“Home, sweet home,” Rand said wistfully.

“It was always quiet, but it seems even more so now,” said Anna. Then she scowled at them both forbiddingly. “And I don’t mean because everyone’s asleep, before you start.”

“I know what you mean,” said Perrin. They’d travelled so far and seen so much in the past year. Emond’s Field, which had once been a great town to him, now looked like a small and poor village. And perhaps that was what it had always been.  _ Doesn’t matter. It’s still home _ .

There were still a few hours to go before dawn and Perrin knew he should get some sleep, but his mind was too full of memories and hopes and fears for him to rest. Rand sat awake, too, looking out over the village in silent contemplation. Anna was the only one to yawn her way towards the tent that had been prepared for her.

The Mayor was usually an early riser—most Theren folk were—so Perrin waited only long enough for the sun to brighten the horizon before rising from his grassy seat. Gaul ghosted over to join him as he led Stepper over to a hitchpost near the inn’s kitchen door. Rand saw them go, but instead of rising to join them, he sat staring at his own branded palm. Perrin could almost hear his thoughts floating on the wind, like a wolf’s.  _ Egwene _ . He shivered, wondering what he could possibly say if the Mayor asked about what had happened to her youngest daughter.

Perrin glanced at the thatch-roofed stable. He could hear men working in there already, probably Hu and Tad, mucking out the stalls where Mistress al’Vere kept the big Dhurran team she rented out for heavy hauling. There were sounds from inside of the inn, too. What was on the horses, he left; this would be a short stop. He motioned for Gaul to follow and hurried inside, carrying his bow.

The kitchen was empty, both iron stoves and all but one fireplace cold, though the smell of baking still hung in the air. Bread and honeycakes. The inn seldom had guests except when merchants came down from Baerlon to buy wool or tabac, or a monthly peddler when snow had not made the road impassable, and the village folk who might come for a drink or a meal later in the day would all be in their own homes now. Someone might be there, though, so Perrin tiptoed along the short hallway leading from the kitchen to the common room and cracked the door to peek inside.

He had seen that square room a thousand times, with its fireplace of river stones stretching half the room’s length, the lintel as high as a man’s shoulder, Master al’Caar’s polished tabac canister sitting on the mantel alongside Mistress al’Vere’s prized clock. It all seemed smaller than it had, somehow. Marin al’Vere’s books sat on a shelf opposite the fireplace—once, Perrin had been unable to imagine more books in one place than those few dozen mostly worn volumes—and casks of ale and wine lined another wall. Scratch, the inn’s yellow cat, sprawled asleep as usual atop one.

Except for Marin al’Vere herself and her husband, Bran, in long white aprons, polishing the inn’s silver and pewter at one of the tables, the common room stood empty. Master al’Caar was a wide, round man, with a sparse fringe of grey hair; Mistress al’Vere was slender and motherly, her thick, greying braid pulled over one shoulder. She smelled of baking, and under that of roses. Perrin remembered them as smiling people, but both looked intent now, and the Mayor wore a frown that surely had nothing to do with the silver cup in her hands.

“Mistress al’Vere?” He pushed open the door and went in. “Master al’Caar. It’s Perrin.”

They sprang to their feet, knocking their chairs over and making Scratch jump. Mistress al’Vere clapped her hands to her mouth; she and her husband gaped as much at him as they did at Gaul. It was enough to make Perrin shift his bow awkwardly from hand to hand. Especially when Bran hurried to one of the front windows—he moved with surprising lightness for a man of his bulk—and twitched the curtains aside to peer out, as though for more Aiel outside.

“Perrin?” Mistress al’Vere murmured disbelievingly. “It is you. I almost didn’t know you, with that beard, and—Your cheek. Were you—? Is Rand with you?”

Perrin touched the half-healed slash across his cheek self-consciously, wishing he had cleaned up, or at least left the bow and axe in the kitchen. He had not considered how his appearance might frighten them. “Rand’s here. Anna too. We arrived late last night.”

“So that’ll be who’s camped out on the Green then,” said Bran, still peering out the window. “Odd bunch you brought with you.”

“They are that,” Perrin said. Abruptly realizing that Gaul was just standing there, he made hasty introductions. Bran blinked when Gaul was named Aiel, and frowned at his spears and the black veil hanging down his chest from his  _ shoufa _ , but his wife merely said, “Be welcome to Emond’s Field, Master Gaul, and to the Winespring Inn.”

“May you always have water and shade, roofmistress,” Gaul said formally, bowing to her. “I ask leave to defend your roof and hold.”

She barely hesitated before replying as if that were exactly what she was used to hearing. “A gracious offer. But you must allow me to decide when it is needed.”

“As you say, roofmistress. Your honour is mine.” From under his coat, Gaul produced a gold saltcellar, a small bowl balanced on the back of a cunningly made lion, and extended it to her. “I offer this small guest gift to your roof.”

Marin al’Vere made over it as she would have any gift, hardly showing her shock. Perrin doubted there was a piece to equal it in the whole Theren, certainly not in gold. There was little enough gold coin in the Theren, much less gold ornaments. He wondered where Gaul had gotten it. The Aiel had been searching for He Who Comes With the Dawn for at least half a year and Gaul had fought Lords Orban and Gann near Remen. Had he fought others, too?

“My boy,” Bran said, “perhaps I should be saying ‘welcome home,’ but why did you return?”

“I heard about the Whitecloaks, sir,” Perrin replied simply.

The Mayor and her husband shared sombre looks, and Bran said, “Again, why did you return? You cannot stop anything, my boy, or change anything. Best that you go. If you don’t have a horse, I will give you one. If you do, climb back in your saddle and ride north. I thought the Whitecloaks were guarding Taren Ferry ... Did they give you that decoration on your face?”

“No. It—”

“Then it doesn’t matter. If you got past them coming in, you can get past to leave. Their main camp is up at Watch Hill, but their patrols can be anywhere. Do it, my boy.”

“Don’t wait, Perrin,” Mistress al’Vere added quietly but firmly, in that voice that usually ended with people doing as she said. “Not even an hour. I’ll make you a bundle to take with you. Some fresh bread and cheese, some ham and roast beef, pickles. You must go, Perrin.”

“I cannot. You know they are after me, or you’d not want me to go.” And they had not commented on his eyes, even to ask if he was ill. Mistress al’Vere had barely been surprised. They knew. “If I give myself up, I can stop some of it. I can keep my family—” He jumped as the hall door banged open to admit Zarine, followed by Bain and Chiad.

Master al’Caar ran a hand over his bald head; even taking in the Aiel women’s garb and obviously identifying them with Gaul, he only seemed a little bemused that they were women. Mainly he looked irritated at the intrusion. Scratch sat up to stare suspiciously at all these strangers. Perrin wondered whether the cat considered him one, as well. He wondered how he was going to manage Zarine now, too.

She gave him little time to ponder, planting herself in front of him with fists on hips. Somehow she managed that trick women had, making herself seem taller through pure quivering outrage. “Give yourself up? Give yourself up! Have you been planning this from the start? You have, haven’t you? You utter idiot! Your brain has frozen solid, Perrin Aybara. It was nothing but muscle and hair to begin, but now it isn’t even that. If Whitecloaks are hunting you, they will hang you if you surrender to them. Why should they want you?”

“Because I killed Whitecloaks.” Looking down at her, he ignored Mistress al’Vere’s gasp. “Those the night I met you, and two before that. They know about those two, Faile, and they think I’m a Darkfriend.” She would learn that much soon enough. Brought to the point of it, he might have told her why, had they been alone. At least two Whitecloaks, Geofram Bornhald and Jaret Byar, suspected something of his connection with wolves. Not nearly all, but for them the little was enough. A man who ran with wolves had to be a Darkfriend. Maybe one or both was with the Whitecloaks here. “They believe it for true.”

“You are no more a Darkfriend than I,” she whispered harshly. “The sun could be a Darkfriend first.”

“It makes no difference, Zarine. I have to do what I have to do.”

“You addle-brained lummox! You don’t have to do any such crackpate thing! You goose-brain! If you try it, I’ll hang you myself!”

“Perrin,” Mistress al’Vere said quietly, “would you introduce me to this young woman who thinks so highly of you?”

Zarine’s face went bright red when she realized she had been ignoring the innkeeper, and she began making elaborate curtsies and offered flowery apologies. Bain and Chiad did as Gaul had, asking leave to defend Mistress al’Vere’s roof and giving her a small golden bowl worked in leaves and an ornate silver pepper mill bigger than Perrin’s two fists, topped by some fanciful creature half horse, half fish.

Bran al’Caar stared and frowned, rubbed his head and muttered to himself. Perrin caught the word “Aiel” more than once in an incredulous tone. He kept glancing at the windows, too. Not wondering about more Aiel; he had been surprised to learn Gaul was Aiel. Maybe he was worried about Whitecloaks.

Marin al’Vere, on the other hand, took it all in stride, treating Zarine and Bain and Chiad the same as any other young women travellers who came to the inn, commiserating with them over how tiring travel was, complimenting Zarine on her riding dress—dark blue silk, today—and telling the Aiel women how she admired the colour and sheen of their hair. Perrin suspected that Bain and Chiad, at least, did not know quite what to make of her, but in short order, with a sort of calm motherly firmness, she had chivvied them all back into the kitchen and gotten all three women settled at a table with damp towels to wipe journey dust from hands and faces, sipping tea she poured from a large red-striped pot he remembered well.

It might have been amusing seeing those fierce women—he certainly included Zarine—suddenly eager to assure Mistress al’Vere that they were more than comfortable, was there nothing they could do to help, she was doing too much, all of them wide-eyed as children, with a child’s chance of resisting her. It would have been amusing if she had not included himself and Gaul, sweeping them just as firmly to the table, insisting on clean hands and clean faces before they got a cup of tea. Gaul wore a small grin the whole time; Aiel had a strange sense of humour.

Surprisingly, she never glanced at his bow or axe, or the Aiel’s weapons. People seldom carried even a bow in the Theren, and she always insisted such be set aside before anyone took a place at one of her tables. Always. But she just ignored them now.

Another surprise came when Bran placed a silver cup of apple brandy at Perrin’s elbow, not the small tot that men usually drank at the inn, barely enough to cover the last joint of the thumb, but half-full. When he had left he would have been offered cider if not milk, or perhaps well-watered wine, a half-cup with a meal or a full one on a feastday. It was gratifying to be recognized as a grown man, but he only held it. He was used to wine now, but he seldom drank anything stronger.

“Perrin,” Bran said as he took a chair beside his wife, “no-one believes you a Darkfriend. No-one with any sense. There is no reason for you to let yourself be hanged.”

Zarine nodded in fierce agreement, but Perrin ignored her. “I won’t be turned aside, Master al’Caar. The Whitecloaks want me, and if they do not get me, they might turn to the next Aybara they can find. Whitecloaks don’t need much to decide somebody is guilty. They are not pleasant people.”

“We know,” Mistress al’Vere said softly.

Her husband stared at his hands on the table. “Perrin, your family is gone.”

“Gone? You mean the farm is burned already?” Perrin’s fist tightened around the silver cup. “I hoped I was in time. I should have known better, I suppose. Too long before I heard. Maybe I can help my da and Uncle Eward rebuild. Who are they staying with? I want to see them first, at least.”

Bran grimaced, and his wife stroked his shoulder comfortingly. But strangely her eyes stayed on Perrin, all sadness and comfort.

“They are dead, my boy,” Bran said in a rush.

“Dead? No. They can’t be—” Perrin frowned as wetness suddenly slopped over his hand, stared at the crumpled cup as though wondering where it had come from. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He pulled at the flattened silver, trying to force it back out with his fingers. That would not work. Of course not. Very carefully, he put the ruined cup in the middle of the table. “I will replace it. I can—” He wiped his hand on his coat, and suddenly found he was caressing the axe hanging at his belt. Why was everyone looking at him so oddly? “Are you sure?” His voice sounded far away. “Adora and Deselle? Paet? My mother?”

“All of them,” Bran told him. “Your aunts and uncles, too, and your cousins. Everybody on the farm. I helped bury them, my boy. On that low hill, the one with the apple trees.”

Perrin stuck his thumb in his mouth. Fool thing to do, cutting himself on his own axe. “My mother likes apple blossoms. The Whitecloaks. Why would they—? Burn me, Paet was only nine. The girls ...” His voice was very flat. He thought he should have had some emotion in those words. Some emotion.

“It was Trollocs,” Mistress al’Vere said quickly. “They have come back, Perrin. Not the way they did when you went away, not attacking the village, but out in the countryside. Most farms without close neighbours have been abandoned. No one goes outside at night, even near to the village. It is the same down to Deven Ride and up to Watch Hill, maybe to Taren Ferry. The Whitecloaks, bad as they are, are our only real protection. They’ve saved two families that I know, when Trollocs attacked their farms.”

“I wished—I hoped—” He could not quite remember what it was he had wished. Something about Trollocs. He did not want to remember. The Whitecloaks protecting the Theren? It was almost enough to make him laugh. “Rand’s father. Tam’s farm. Was that Trollocs, too?”

Mistress al’Vere opened her mouth, but Bran cut her off. “He deserves the truth, Marin. That was Whitecloaks, Perrin. That, and the Cauthon place.”

“Mat’s people too. Rand’s, and Mat’s, and mine.” Strange. He sounded as if he were talking about whether it might rain. “Are they dead, too?”

“No, my boy. No, Abell and Tam are hiding in the Westwood somewhere. And Mat’s mother and sisters ... They’re alive, too.”

“Hiding?”

“There is no need to go into that,” Mistress al’Vere said briskly. “Bran, bring him another cup of brandy. And you drink this one, Perrin.” Her husband sat where he was, but she only frowned at him and went on. “I would offer you a bed, but it isn’t safe. Some people are like as not to run off hunting for Lord Bornhald if they find out you are here. Eward Congar and Hari Coplin fawn after the Whitecloaks like heel-hounds, eager to please and name names, and Cenn Buie isn’t much better. And Wit Congar will carry tales, too, if Daisy doesn’t stop him. She is the Wisdom, now. Perrin, it is best for you to go. Believe me.”

Perrin shook his head slowly; it was too much to take in. Daisy Congar the Wisdom? The woman was like a bull. Whitecloaks protecting Emond’s Field. Hari and Eward and Wit cooperating. No much more could be expected from Congars or Coplins, but Cenn Buie was on the Village Council. Lord Bornhald. So Geofram Bornhald was here. Zarine was watching him, her eyes large and moist. Why should she be on the edge of tears?

“There is more, Brandelwyn al’Caar,” Gaul said. “Your face says so.”

“There is,” Bran agreed. “No, Marin,” he added firmly when she gave a small shake of her head. “He deserves the truth. The whole truth.” She folded her hands with a sigh; Marin al’Vere very nearly always got her way—except when Bran’s face was set, as now, with his eyebrows drawn down hard as a plough.

“What truth?” Perrin asked. His mother liked apple blossoms.

“First off, Padan Fain is with the Whitecloaks,” Bran said. “He calls himself Ordeith now, and he won’t answer to his own name at all, but it’s him, stare down his nose as he will.”

“He’s a Darkfriend,” Perrin said absently. Adora and Deselle always put apple blossoms in their hair in the spring. “Admitted from his own mouth. He brought the Trollocs, on Winternight.” Paet liked to climb in the apple trees; he would throw apples at you from the branches if you did not watch him.

“Is he, now,” Bran said grimly. “Now, that is interesting. He has some authority with the Whitecloaks. The first we heard they were here was after they burned Tam’s farm. Tam feathered four or five of them with arrows before he made it to the woods, and he reached town in the nick to stop them taking Abell. But they arrested Natti and the girls at their farm, and the Candwins along with them. Haral and Alsbet, too. I think Fain might have hung them except Lord Bornhald wouldn’t allow it. Not that he let them go, either. They haven’t been harmed, as far as I can discover, but they’re being held in the Whitecloak camp up at Watch Hill. For some reason, Fain has a hate for you, and Rand, and Mat. He’s offered a hundred pieces of gold for anyone related to the three of you; two hundred for Tam or Abell. And Lord Bornhald seems to have some interest in you, especially. When a Whitecloak patrol comes here, he usually comes, too, and asks questions about you.”

“Yes,” Perrin said. “Of course. He would.” Perrin of the Theren, who ran with wolves. Darkfriend. Fain could have told them the rest.  _ Fain, with the Children of the Light? _ It was a distant thought. Better than thinking about Trollocs, though. He grimaced at his hands, made them be still on the table. “They protect you from the Trollocs.”

Marin al’Vere leaned toward him, frowning. “Perrin, we need the Whitecloaks. Yes, they burned Tam’s farm, and Abell’s, they’ve arrested people, and they stamp around as if they own everything they see, but Alsbet and Natti and the rest are unharmed, only held, and that can be straightened out somehow. The Dragon’s Fang has been scrawled on a few doors, but nobody except the Congars and Coplins pay any mind, and they’re likely the ones who did the scrawling. Tam and Abell can stay in hiding until the Whitecloaks go. They have to go sooner or later. But as long as there are Trollocs here, we do need them. Please understand. It isn’t that we would not rather have you than them, but we need them and we don’t want them to hang you.”

“You call this being protected, roofmistress?” Bain said. “If you ask the lion to protect you from wolves, you have only chosen to end in one belly instead of another.”

“Can you not protect yourselves?” Chiad added. “I have seen Perrin fight, and Anna al’Tolan. They are the same blood as you.”

Bran sighed heavily. “We are farmers, simple people. Lord Luc talks of organizing men to fight the Trollocs, but that means leaving your family unprotected while you go off with him, and no one much likes that idea.”

Perrin was confused. Who was Lord Luc? He asked as much, and Mistress al’Vere answered. “He came about the time the Whitecloaks did. He’s a Hunter of the Horn. You know the story,  _ The Great Hunt of the Horn _ ? Lord Luc thinks the Horn of Valere is somewhere in the Mountains of Mist above the Theren. But he gave over his hunt because of our problems. Lord Luc is a great gentleman, with the finest manners.” Smoothing her hair, she gave an approving smile; Bran looked at her sideways and grunted sourly.

Hunters of the Horn. Trollocs. Whitecloaks. The Theren hardly seemed the same place he had left. “Faile—I mean, Zarine—is a Hunter of the Horn, too. Do you know this Lord Luc, Zarine?”

“I have had enough,” she announced. Perrin frowned as she stood and came around the table to him. Seizing his head, she pulled his face into her midriff. “Your mother is dead,” she said quietly. “Your father is dead. Your sisters are dead, and your brother. Your family is dead, and you cannot change it. Certainly not by dying yourself. Let yourself grieve. Don’t hold it inside where it can fester.”

He took her by the arms, meaning to move her, but for some reason his hands tightened till that grip was the only thing holding him up. It was only then that he realized he was crying, sobbing into her dress like a baby. What must she think of him? He opened his mouth to tell her he was all right, to apologize for breaking down, but what came out was, “I couldn’t get here any faster. I couldn’t—I—” He gritted his teeth to shut himself off.

“I know,” she murmured, stroking his hair for all the world as if he were a child. “I know.”

He wanted to stop, but the more she whispered understanding, the more he wept, as though her hands soft on his head were smoothing the tears out of him.


	37. Return to the Winespring

CHAPTER 34: Return to the Winespring

It took Rand an embarrassing amount of time to work up the nerve to approach Marin’s inn. By the time he did, some Emond’s Field folk were already up and about. Leof Torfinn frowned suspiciously at the newcomers from the porch of his mother’s house. That frown only deepened when Rand waved to him. Leof stared for several moments before his deep-set eyes suddenly widened. Pretty little Marisa Ahan came to her mother’s door, yawning and pulling a cloak about her shoulders, but she only got five steps outside before she noticed the strangers camped on the Green. She clapped her hands to her cheeks, turned around and ran straight back home.

_ She’ll hear that I’m back soon enough, even if Perrin doesn’t tell her. The longer I put this off the worse it will be _ . Rand got to his feet with a sigh. Most of his companions were still resting after their night’s ride, but two of the Shienaran sentries came to join him when they saw him move off. One-eyed Uno and scruffy Han were the least savoury looking of his armsmen. He hoped Marin wouldn’t be too alarmed at the sight of them.

Loial was awake as well, taking in the sight of Emond’s Field and making notes in one of his books. He stoppered his inkpot hastily when he saw Rand go and hurried over to join him, holding the book with its still-wet ink before him as delicately as if it was a newborn baby.

“This is a pleasant place, Rand,” the Ogier said. “It almost reminds me of the  _ stedding _ . I’m glad you got to know such peace.”

Rand glanced at Uno and grimaced slightly. He couldn’t help but recall what Lan had once said about that word. For the people of the Borderlands peace was a dream and a prayer that never came true. Only in the southern lands could it become reality, and there only because of the eternal vigilance of the Borderlanders. It made Rand feel guilty.

“None of us would ever have known peace if the Borderlands did not know constant war,” he said solemnly. Uno grunted acknowledgment of that. “But yes, it was a nice place to live.”

He could hear voices from within the Winespring Inn. Hiding his nerves as best he could, Rand strode up to the front door, opened it, and stepped inside. The room was just as he remembered it, the tall fireplace, the tables and chairs, Marin’s library. It almost felt homey. The three Aiel were there already; they and Master al’Caar were trying to pretend that they were perfectly comfortable in each other’s company. There was no sign of Perrin or Zarine, though Rand had seen her sneaking off towards the inn earlier.

All of that was background noise to him though. His gaze fixed on Marin al’Vere, the Mayor of Emond’s Field. The first woman he’d ever known. There was a little more grey in her thick braid than there had been a year ago, and a few more lines around her downturned mouth, but other than that she looked just as he remembered. A slender, motherly woman about whom could still be seen the traces of what must once have been a great beauty. Her dark eyes grew huge at the sight of Rand and his companions, and she raised a hand to her own throat.

He wondered if it was his throat she’d rather be grasping.

“Mistress al’Vere. I’m back.”

“Rand?” she said incredulously. “I ... I didn’t recognise—I mean, welcome back, lad. W-ho are these men with you and ... is that ... Who? What?”

Rand had never seen her so flustered. “My apologies,” he said. “This is Uno Nomesta and Han Saresta, they’re soldiers from Shienar, up in the Borderlands. And this is Loial, son of Arent son of Halan, from Stedding Shangtai. He’s an Ogier.”

“An Ogier,” she whispered faintly. Bran sensed his wife’s distress and rose from the table he and Gaul had been sitting at, then poured a tot of brandy and hurried over to offer it to her. Marin tossed it back and immediately started coughing and spluttering while an alarmed looking Bran patted her back, alternating wide eyed looks between Marin and Loial. The Ogier shuffled his feet embarrassedly over their reaction.

Marin turned her reddened face Rand’s way and looked him over, shaking her head slightly as she did so. When she’d recovered herself enough to speak, she said, “What is that you are wearing, Rand? You’d put Lord Luc to shame.”

Rand touched his breastplate self-consciously. He’d left the helmet back in camp but that aside he was still fully armoured. “It’s a dangerous world out there,” he explained. “It’s been impressed on me that I should be as prepared as I can be.”

“I still say you should get a suit of full plate, my Lord D—Ah, d-don’t you agree?” Uno said, his confident declaration trailing off into a red-faced croak.

“Peace, Uno. Maybe some day.”

“Lord?” Bran murmured. He shook his head and began reaming his ear with his finger.

“Where’s Perrin?” Rand asked.

For some reason that brought Marin back to herself almost instantly. “He needs a little privacy right now. I’m sure he’ll be out to see you whenever he’s ready,” she said in that kind but firm way she had. Rand couldn’t help but smile slightly, though he still caught on to her reasons.

“Something’s happened. Something bad.”

“Lots of bad things have happened this past year,” Bran said. Rotund as he was, his face still managed to look as hard as a stone.

Rand nodded. “They have,” he said quietly. He took a deep breath. “Nynaeve said she paid to have a letter delivered, from Fal Dara. Did it reach here?”

Egwene’s parents went very still. “The peddler was an honest woman,” Marin said after a painfully tense moment. “She gave me the letter. I know that my daughter is ... gone.”

Rand bowed his head. “I’m sorry. I should have protected her better.” But if he had then Anna might have died. Even if Rand had it all to do over again, he wouldn’t have sacrificed Anna for Egwene. Marin and Bran did not, of course, ever need to know that.

“Maybe. I don’t know. Nynaeve didn’t really tell me much. But you can. I need to know, Rand,” Marin said. Her hands hadn’t shaken when Trollocs attacked Emond’s Field on Winternight, but they were shaking now.

Rand didn’t know how he could tell her about Egwene’s death without mentioning his channelling or their fight with Aginor, but he knew Marin deserved the answers she asked for. “Alright,” he said tightly. He racked his brain for a way to start but when he opened his mouth again Marin forestalled him with a raised hand.

“Wait. Not here. I don’t ... Not in public like this. Tell me in private.”

Rand glanced around the room. The Aiel, the Shienarans and Loial had all taken a keen interest in the furnishings while he and Marin spoke. Even the inexpressive Aiel looked uncomfortable, if only slightly. Uno had his hands in fists at the small of his back and was glaring at the lintel as though it had insulted his mother. Bran had the pinch-lipped look of a man trying to hold in some great emotion.

“Later then,” Rand said.

“No. Now,” Marin countered firmly. She turned and marched for the stairs, plainly expecting Rand to follow, which he did after instructing Uno and Han to wait there.

The wooden stairs creaked beneath his weight, and his footsteps sounded loud on the floorboards as he followed Marin past the rooms where guests would stay, on the few occasions they had any here in Emond’s Field. She and her daughters stayed year round, of course. One of those daughters was just emerging from her room as he came down the hallway.

Alene had a fuller figure than her mother did, though she was not plump by any means. Her brown eyes were typical of Therener women but the hair she was still tying into its braid was of a much lighter shade than normal for these parts. She gaped at Rand for a moment and then her pretty face lit up with a smile.

“Rand! You’re back! Where have you been all this time? And where did you get those fancy clothes? You’re looking dapper!”

“Not now, Alene,” Marin said grimly. “You can get caught up later.”

It didn’t take Alene more than a moment to catch her mother’s meaning. Her smile quickly died. “I see. I’ll make sure no-one interrupts, Mother.”

“Good girl,” Marin said. She marched on and Rand followed, after waving his fingers in mixed greeting and farewell to Alene.

It was to her own bedroom that Marin led him, but Rand was not so foolish as to mistake her intentions. He doubted anyone else had been either. Or at least he hoped they hadn’t. That room, too, was much as he remembered, with its big comfy bed, flower-patterned carpet and curtains, neatly arrayed ornaments and bulging wardrobe. For all that it was a couple’s room, it had always struck Rand as very much belonging to a woman.

She went to her dresser, took hold of the wooden chair and turned it to face him. Sitting, she spoke in her mayoral voice. “Tell me how she died. And start at the beginning.”

“The very beginning? She wrote you a note when she left didn’t she?”

“Yes. She said she was off to find her place in the world. That you three were going with the Aes Sedai and she didn’t mean to be left behind.”

“Well. I guess she almost did, after that. Find her place, I mean. Moiraine tested her to see if she could channel, and it turned out that she could. Egwene was going to be an Aes Sedai. She seemed very excited at the prospect.”

Nynaeve must not have mentioned that part, for Marin’s eyes widened. “An Aes Sedai. My girl? I ... don’t know what to think of that.”

“It didn’t cause her death by any means. Nynaeve can channel, too, and she’s doing well. But being able to channel was why Egwene didn’t run from the man who killed her. She thought she could use it to defeat him.”

“Who was he? What happened to him,” Marin said angrily.

Rand lowered his head and gave her as much of the truth as he dared. “He was a Darkfriend channeler. He attacked us, using the One Power. Arrows fired at him just bounced off an invisible shield. When he defeated Moiraine, the rest of us turned and ran but Egwene stood her ground. But he defeated her, too. It was quick, Marin. She barely would have felt a thing.”

She looked her pain at him through tear-filled eyes, above the hand that covered her mouth. “My baby. My poor stubborn baby.”

“I’m so sorry,” Rand whispered.

“What of the killer?”

He shook his head. “I haven’t seen him since that day.”

Marin’s tears fell. “Then he lives. Even justice is denied her.”

Rand went to her then, and knelt beside her chair, and wrapped her in his arms. “It was my fault. I should have fought with her. Or dragged her away. I should have saved her.”

She hugged him back and choked out a response through her weeping. “No, Rand. If this Darkfriend could defeat an Aes Sedai, then you wouldn’t have stood a chance against him. You’d just have died, like my baby. I wouldn’t want that. I’m glad you’re here.”

He kissed the top of her greying head. “So am I.”

Rand didn’t initiate, but when Marin raised her lips to his he met them warmly. He just held her in his arms and kissed her at first, but soon it became apparent that she wanted more. The hands that sought his chest were thwarted by his breastplate.

Marin broke their kiss and looked at him with eyes hot with emotion. “Take that stuff off.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Rand said.

She rose from her chair and went to latch the door as Rand hastily unbuckled his armour. She watched him as he undressed, making her way slowly towards the bed.

All his clothes save his breeches and underwear were piled on the floor around him when Marin finally began undressing herself. Her white apron and good green dress pooled at the bedside. She had raised one still-pretty leg to pull down her stocking by the time Rand was free of the rest of his clothes, and by then he was standing to attention.

Marin paused her undressing and smiled a pleased little smile. It woke the lines around her eyes, but despite that it somehow made her seem younger.

She took her time removing the rest of her clothes and Rand waited patiently, enjoying the show. Even though well into her fifties, Marin was still an attractive woman. The small breasts she bared when she pushed her chemise down over her shoulders drooped only slightly, and while her stomach rippled with soft folds, there was little fat on her. She stood to lower her bloomers, showing him the one exception to that truth, which was her womanly bottom. Be the time she turned to face him again, Rand was already on her.

He had to pick her up to kiss her; she was light in his arms. Trusting him to carry her weight, Marin wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him back hungrily. He could tell from the intensity of her lips on his, and the way her tongue probed his mouth, that she wanted it hard, so that was how he gave it to her. Rand held her hips between his hands and moved his cock into position at her entrance, then pulled her firmly down onto himself. A light groan of satisfaction escaped him as he felt her wetness envelope his manhood. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed his tight.

Rand deposited them on her bed, with Marin beneath him, still wrapped tightly around his body. At her pained grunt, he pulled back long enough to see the way her pussy lips parted wide to accepted his cock, and to notice that she was almost completely grey down there now. But while he was concerned about his weight resting atop the slight old woman, Marin was not. She gazed up at him with an intensity he didn’t understand, and then pulled him right back down towards her.

Her nails on his buttocks urged speed and Rand gave it to her, fucking her hard and deep. Marin gave a light, encouraging moan with each thrust.

“You’re sure ... it was ... quick?” she gasped between thrusts.

Rand squeezed her soft breast in his hand. “She didn’t even make a sound.”

Marin did though, a sound half way between a sob and a gasp of pleasure. He kissed the side of her neck gently as his cock pounded into her again and again.

She breathed his name over and over as they made love. At first it was a benediction, but soon it began to sound almost like a question. Eventually, Marin moaned out her thoughts.

“Rand? ... Did you ... ever make love to my little girl?”

Rand almost never kissed and told, but when he leaned back to look into Marin’s beautiful brown eyes and saw the look in those huge orbs he spoke without thought. “Yes, I did,” he answered honestly. He owed her that.

He half expected her to rebuke him, for all that she had been the one to arrange his engagement to Egwene in the first place. But Marin’s mouth trembled into a smile. “Did she like it? Did she come?” she whispered desperately.

Rand cupped her face between his hands. “She cried out, loud and sweet,” he told her mother softly.

“I’m glad,” Marin sobbed. “I’m glad she had that much enjoyment in her life at least. Before it ended. Too soon, too soon. My baby.” Hot tears trickled down to scald his branded hands.

Not knowing what else to do, Rand stroked her greying head as though she were the younger and not he. He kissed her lips softly, and caressed her deep inside her pussy with his cock. Egwene had emerged from that pussy, not seventeen years ago. He wondered if this was the very bed she had been conceived in. He wondered what was going through Marin’s head as they lay together on it now.

Intent on comforting her, Rand reached down between them and found the engorged bud at the top of her pussy. He rubbed her just the way Raye had liked to rub herself and soon had Marin twitching intensely in his embrace. Her arms around him pleaded for more, but the words she spoke contradicted her touch.

“No ... I don’t deserve ... Not like this ...” She clapped a hand across her own mouth, not to silence the confusing words, but to silence her cry of pleasure as the first orgasm surged through her. Rand peered into Marin’s eyes as she came for him, and smiled at what he saw there.

When the orgasm ran its course, the legs she had been squeezing around his hips fell to the sides. She lay spread wide on her bed, trying to catch her breath, red-faced and sweaty.

“I love it when you do that,” Rand told her quietly.

Marin’s hands went to his naked chest, and kneaded the hard muscles there, but only for a moment. She pushed him back off of her, and despite his unsated hunger for her body, Rand complied. His cock slid out of her, glistening with their mingled juices.

“You’re such a big boy, Rand,” Marin said, breathing heavily. “The biggest I’ve ever seen.” She bit her lip again, this time so hard that he winced in concern for her.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Marin said. When she turned away he thought she was denying him, but it proved to be quite the opposite. Marin lay on her belly atop the ruffled sheets of her marriage bed and reached back to touch the cheeks of her bottom. She parted them for him, and showed him the puckered little hole that hid between them.

“Fuck me in my ass, Rand,” Marin said. “Bugger me like the dirty old bitch I am.”

Rand gasped loudly. Never would he have imagined that kind, motherly woman something like that. “Marin? You shouldn’t say such things about yourself. You’re a lovely woman, kind and beautiful,” he said reassuringly.

“No. I’m a bad woman, a disloyal wife and a terrible mother. I deserve to be punished. Please, give me what I deserve, Rand.”

Rand touched the soft flesh of her bottom, unable to deny the hunger that surged up inside him. “I ... If you want me to be rough with you I will. If you think it will help. But I would never want to hurt you, or think you deserved it.”

“You’re such a sweet boy,” she said into her pillow. “You always were. But I don’t want you to be sweet right now.”

“Then I won’t be,” he growled. He poked the head of his slick cock against her back entrance, then leant forward to rest his weight on her back. “This will hurt. But you’re not to move. You just lie there and take it. And not a sound, understand? Bite that pillow if you have to.”

“You young ruffian, how dare you?” Marin said half-heartedly. “What are you going to do to me?”

“This!” Rand’s muscles bunched as he forced his cock forward against Marin’s ass. She was very tight back there, so tight that he thought that it was perhaps her first time. She bit the pillow as he’d urged, and took a white-knuckled grip of the bedsheets as she felt her body spread by his merciless assault. She didn’t lie still though, she flinched continuously and her legs kicked against the bed as he pushed his way past the tight ring at her entrance and then deeper and deeper into her back passage.

“Light, Marin! I’ve never felt you so tight before,” Rand gasped. “Your bum feels so good.”

She’d said she wanted it rough, and Rand was happy to oblige. He could see pain on her face as he fucked her. She had her eyes squeezed shut and her teeth gritted, and the combination aged her a bit, but despite that and despite her body’s continuing protests, Marin remained silent as Rand ravaged her backside.

He took her grey-streaked brown braid and positioned in between her shoulder blades. It was so long that it reached her waist, just above the small of her back and the round cheeks that quivered so delightfully under his administrations. Happy with the arrangement, Rand supported his weight on stiffened arms, and began railing the woman even harder than before, sliding his cock almost all the way out of her before slamming it back home. Marin started biting the pillow again, and this time she did not stop.

Rand was relentless in pursuit of his climax, but when he felt it building he discovered that he could have been more relentless still. His hips moved at a blistering pace as he ravaged Marin’s poor asshole until at last he slammed them up against her, forcing one last mighty shake from her fleshy cheeks, before unloading inside her bowels. He let out his satisfaction in a long, hissing breath.

When she felt him come inside her and found herself spared any further pounding, Marin relaxed her grip on the sheets and let the pillow fall from between her teeth.

Rand lowered his weight to his elbows, breathing heavily as he rested his forehead against the back of Marin’s neck.

“That ... that was ... exactly what I asked for,” Marin mumbled. “You can get off me now Rand.”

“Not yet,” Rand gasped. “I’m not done yet.” He reached around her, sliding his hands gently across her hot skin, and sought out her breasts and crotch. He caressed both, pinching her long nipple and her swollen nub both.

“I don’t need that,” Marin said, though her moaning voice suggested otherwise.

“Didn’t I tell you to just lie there and take it?” Rand teased. “This is what you deserve.”

He rubbed at her intently, and started moving his softening cock inside her bottom once more, but slowly now, shallowly and gently. Marin did not object again, she just lay prone beneath him until Rand brought her to another shuddering climax. Only then did she speak. “Light! Rand!”

She felt so alive when she was coming like that. Her butt squeezed and released his shaft in time with the little jerks of her body. He smiled in pleasure and let it run its course before leaning over to kiss her cheek. Satisfied, he pulled himself out of Marin’s butt slowly and carefully, leaving her sprawled on the sweaty sheets, satisfied in body, and he hoped in mind as well.

Rand sat on the side of the bed. He felt relaxed in a way he hadn’t in a long time. It wasn’t just the familiar post-orgasm bliss; he felt like a weight had been lifted from his heart. He’d been sure that she would blame him for Egwene’s death, but she’d freed him of that burden. When he looked over at the old woman on the bed and smiled, she smiled back at him. She was resting on her side now, one arm in the shallow of her waist and her stiff-nippled breasts freely on display. At another time Rand might have tried his luck with her again, but he hadn’t slept in over a full day and suddenly he felt the pull of the exhaustion he’d been holding back. That soft bed looked extremely inviting.

As kind and as observant as ever, Marin noticed his weariness. “How long has it been since you slept, Rand?”

“A while,” he admitted. “We rode through the night to get here. Perrin’s worried about his family. And so am I.”

She sat up on the bed. “Well you don’t need to worry about that any longer. Tam is safe, I promise you. And the rest you can talk to Perrin about later. You need your rest, young man.” When she noticed his sleepy eyes drifting towards her bed, her voice got more stern. “But not here. You can have one of the guest rooms. I expect your new friends will have this place packed before long but I can spare a bed for my favourite boy.”

Rand smiled. “Thanks, Marin. You’re the best.”

He rose from her bed and went to gather his things. The prospect of buckling on all that armour just to take it off again was a daunting one, but he’d do it if he had to. Except ... “Marin? Is there any chance you could clear a path between here and another room? I don’t want to be bothered with all this armour.”

She sniffed at his laziness, but there was a smile on her face as she did so. “Give me a moment to fix myself up and then I’ll go check outside.”

Rand was grateful, not just for the offer but for the chance to watch her wash herself from the pitcher by the nightstand and then get dressed. She moved a little stiffly, and once she cupped a hand to her bottom while wincing. When she noticed how guilty Rand looked over that though she refrained from doing it again. Had he thought she must have been beautiful in her youth? That was inaccurate; she was beautiful still.

When she was satisfied with her appearance, Marin put a finger to her lips and unlatched the bedroom door. She opened it just far enough to slip outside. Rand waited for perhaps a minute, naked with his clothes and armour bundled in his arms, before she poked her head into the room again. A crooked finger set him to tip toeing out of her room into the hall, the air cold on his bare skin. When that same finger pointed to a door down the hall, Rand nodded silently and made his way there, his gait made awkward as much by his burden as by his effort to tip toe as fast as possible. Behind him, he heard Marin giggle girlishly.

She’d left the door slightly open for him, enough that a touch of his toe was all it took to let himself in. He grinned. Marin thought of everything. He gave her a taste of that grin and got a matching one in return before he kicked the door shut.

The inn bed was a bit smaller than Marin’s one, but Rand knew from past stays that it was just as comfy. He set his bundle on the floor and climbed straight into bed. He was asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow.


	38. Unfamiliar Faces

CHAPTER 35: Unfamiliar Faces

With Zarine holding his head beneath her breasts, Perrin lost track of how long he cried.

Images of his family flashed in his thoughts, his father smiling as he showed him how to hold a bow, his mother singing while she spun wool, Adora and Deselle teasing him when he shaved the first time, Paet wide-eyed at a gleeman during Sunday long ago. Pictures of graves, cold and lonely in a row. He wept until there were no more tears in him. When he finally pulled back, the two of them were alone in the kitchen except for Scratch, washing himself atop the ale barrel. He was glad the others had not remained to watch him. Zarine was bad enough. In a way he was glad she had stayed; he only wished she had not seen or heard.

Taking his hands in hers, Zarine sat in the next chair. She was so beautiful, with her slightly tilted eyes, large and dark, and her high cheekbones. He did not know how he was going to be able to make up to her for the way he had treated her these last few days. No doubt she would find a means to make him pay for it.

“Have you given up the notion of surrendering to the Whitecloaks?” she asked. There was no hint in her voice that she had just watched him cry like a baby.

“It seems it wouldn’t do any good. They’ll be after Rand’s father, and Mat’s, whatever I do. My family ...” He quickly loosened his grip on her hands, but she smiled instead of wincing. “I have to get Master Weyland and his wife free, if I can. And Mat’s mother and sisters. And do what I can about the Trollocs.” Maybe this Lord Luc had some ideas. At least the Waygate was blocked; no more would come through the Ways. He especially wanted to do something about the Trollocs. “I can’t manage any of that if I let them hang me.”

“I am very glad you see that,” she told him dryly. “Any more fool notions about sending me away?”

“No.” He braced himself for the storm, but she simply nodded as if the one word were what she expected and all she wanted. A small thing, nothing worth arguing over. She was going to make him pay large.

“We are thirty, Perrin. And if we can find Tam al’Thor and Abell Candwin ... Are they as good with a bow as you?”

“Better,” he said truthfully. “Much better.”

She gave him a slight, disbelieving nod. “That will make a beginning. Maybe others will join us. And then there’s Lord Luc. He will probably want to take charge, but if he’s not a crackbrain, it won’t matter. Not everyone who took the Hunter’s Oath is sensible, though. I’ve met some who think they know everything, and are stubborn as mules besides.”

“I know.” She looked at him sharply, and he managed to keep the smile off his face. “That you’ve met some like that, I mean. I saw a pair of them once, remember.”

“Oh, them. Well, we can hope Lord Luc is not a boasting liar.” Her eyes became intent, and her grip tightened on his hands, not uncomfortably, but as though she was trying to add her strength to his. “You will want to visit your family’s farm, your home. I will come with you, if you will let me.”

“When I can, Zarine.” Not now, though. Not yet. If he looked at those graves below the apple trees now ... It was strange. He had always taken his own strength for granted, and now it turned out that he was not strong at all. Well, he was done with weeping like a babe. It was past time to be doing something. “First things first. Finding Tam and Abell, I suppose.”

Master al’Caar put his head into the kitchen, and came the rest of the way when he saw them sitting apart. “There is an Ogier in the common room,” he told Perrin with a bemused look. “An Ogier. Drinking tea. The biggest cup looks ...” He held two fingers as though gripping a thimble. “Maybe Marin could pretend Aiel walk in here every day, but she nearly fainted when she saw this Loial. I gave her a double tot of brandy, and she tossed it down like water. Nearly coughed herself to death; she doesn’t take more than wine, usually. I think she’d have drunk another, if I’d given it to her.” He pursed his lips and affected an interest in a nonexistent spot on his long white apron. “Are you all right now, my boy?”

“I’m fine, sir,” Perrin said hastily. “Master al’Caar, we cannot remain here much longer. Someone might tell the Whitecloaks you sheltered me.”

“Oh, there are not many would do that. Not all the Coplins, and not some of the Congars, even.” But he did not suggest they stay.

“Do you know where I can find Master al’Thor and Master Cauthon?”

“In the Westwood somewhere, usually,” Bran said slowly. “That’s all I know for sure. They move about.” Locking his fingers over his broad belly, he tilted his grey-fringed head to one side. “You aren’t leaving, are you? Well. I told Marin you would not, but she doesn’t believe me. She thinks it best for you to go away—best for you—and like most women she’s sure you will see things her way if she talks long enough.”

“Why, Master al’Caar,” Zarine said sweetly, “I for one have always found men to be sensible creatures who only need to be shown the wisest path once to choose it.”

He favoured her with an amused smile. “You will be talking Perrin into going then, I take it? Marin’s right; that is wisest, if he wants to avoid a noose. The only reason to stay is that sometimes a man can’t run. No? Well, no doubt you know best.” He ignored her sour look.

In the common room, Loial was sitting cross-legged on the floor. There was certainly no chair in the inn big enough for the Ogier. He sat with an arm resting on a table, tall enough sitting to look Alene al’Vere in the eye. The Mayor’s daughter was staring openly at Loial, seemingly at a loss for what to say, which was a bit unlike her—in Perrin’s experience she was quite the talker. Bran had exaggerated the smallness of the cup in Loial’s hands, though on second glance Perrin saw it was a white-glazed soup bowl.

Another al’Vere, Loise, the now-youngest of Marin and Bran’s children, was sitting on a chair in the corner, legs crossed and foot kicking in a nervous tic as she studied all the newcomers.

The Aiel sat together at a table, looking oddly uncomfortable, while Uno and Han leaned on either side of the front door, still clad in their armour and yellow surcoats. Perrin took their presence to mean that Rand had decided to join them, but he saw no sign of his friend.

Mistress al’Vere adjusted her hair as she came down the stairs. She still had a slightly stunned look about her, but he saw her give herself a small shake and fix a pleasant smile on her face before rejoining her guests. She took up a tray of bread and cheese and pickles, and started bustling about, making sure everyone ate. She was still doing her best to pretend Aiel and Ogier were normal, but her eyes did widen each time they landed on Loial, though he tried to put her at ease with compliments for her baking. His tufted ears twitched nervously whenever she looked at him, and she gave a little jump every time they did, then shook her head, the thick greying braid swaying vigorously. Given a few hours, they might send each other to bed with the shakes.

Loial heaved a deep bass sigh of relief at the sight of Perrin and set his cup—bowl—of tea on the table, but the next instant his broad face sagged sadly. “I am sorry to hear your loss, Perrin. I share your grief. Master al’Caar has been telling me you will go, now there’s nothing to keep you here. If you wish it, I will sing to the apple trees before we leave.”

Bran and Marin exchanged startled looks, and the Mayor actually reamed at his ear with a finger. “Thank you, Loial. I will appreciate that, when there’s time. But I have work to do before I can go.” Mistress al’Vere set the tray on the table with a sharp click and stared at him, but he kept on, laying out his plans, such as they were: Find Tam and Abell, and rescue the people the Whitecloaks held. He did not mention Trollocs, though he had vague plans there, too. Perhaps not so vague. He did not mean to leave while there was a Trolloc or Myrddraal alive in the Theren, and he doubted Rand would either. He fastened his thumbs behind his belt to keep from caressing his axe. “It won’t be easy,” he finished. “I will appreciate your company, but I will understand if you want to go. This isn’t your fight, and you have seen enough trouble through staying close to Emond’s Field folk.”

“I would not abandon my friends, Perrin,” Loial replied, a touch reproachfully. “Perhaps I will have a chapter about you in my book.”

“I said I would come with you,” Gaul put in without being asked. “I did not mean until the journey grew hard. I owe you blood debt.”

Bain and Chiad looked questioningly at Zarine, and when she nodded, added their decisions to remain.

“Wherever Lord Rand goes, we bloody go, too,” Uno said in his rough voice.

Perrin expected Mistress al’Vere to rebuke him for speaking so in her inn, but she was too busy staring. “ _ Lord _ Rand?” she said, shaking her head in confusion.

Uno nodded once, arms folded across his chest. It was Han who spoke, with a lazy grin. “Likes to say he’s just a shepherd, but he’s a lord now. We all swore fealty to him after Falme.”

The Mayor and her family stared at him even harder than they’d been staring at Loial.

“Rand? Rand al’Thor?” Loise said incredulously. She started dry washing her hands. “Why? And what’s Falme?”

Perrin gave Han a warning look. “It’s a city over on Toman Head,” he said hastily. “There was some fighting out that way last year and we kind of got caught up in it. You’d need to ask Rand for the details. Where is he anyway?”

“Sleeping in one of the guest rooms,” Marin said calmly. “He told me you rode through the night to get here. You should probably get some sleep, too, Perrin.”

“I don’t want to draw attention,” Perrin said uncertainly. “I thought it would be best if we left.”

“It’s a bit late for that,” Bran drawled. “Most of the village will have seen those soldiers out on the Green by now.”

“Is Anna with you?” Loise put in. Perrin had never really spoken to her that often, for all that they lived in the same village and were close in age. Loise kept to herself. “Or is she Lady Anna now?”

“Hardly,” Zarine said. Loise narrowed her eyes at her.

Perrin rubbed the back of his neck. “Anna’s here. She’s sleeping in one of the tents outside.”

“Of course. The woman would be the only sensible one,” Marin said under her breath. “It seems you won’t be leaving for a while yet, Perrin,” she added more loudly. “Best you take a leaf out of Rand’s book and go get some sleep. You won’t help anyone by collapsing on my floor. Alene can show you to one of the spare rooms.”

* * *

“The Whitecloaks were a lot shinier,” Dav said.

“Yes, but these lot look tougher,” Elam responded. “I wouldn’t like to run into them in a dark alley. Just look at all those scars!”

Dav Ayellin surveyed the newcomers from the safe distance of the Wagon Bride. He had to allow that Elam had a point. The armour and weapons that the men with the silly hair were sporting had been scuffed and nicked from hard use. He supposed a weapon was much like a farm tool; the shinier it was the less work the farmer did. The Whitecloaks’ swords had looked like they were fresh off the forge.

“Where are they from?” he wondered, scratching his head. His brown hair was unkempt already, before the clock had turned High even, but no amount of brushing would keep it neat for long. And no amount of explaining would stop his sisters—all three of them—and his mother from chasing him down and trying to fix him up as though he was a baby. Sometimes it was torture, being the only boy in the family.

“I heard from Alene al’Vere that they are Shienarans, from up on the Borderlands,” Elam said portentously. He liked a bit of gossip, did Elam, but he was a good friend. He lowered his voice and leaned in close. “And there’s more. She said there were Aiel staying in the Winespring Inn.”

“Aiel!? Don’t be a woolhead, man,” Dav scoffed. “What would Aiel be doing in the Theren?”

Elam raised his hands before him. “Go call Alene a woolhead if you want, I’m just repeating what she told me.”

After a moment’s thought, Dav shook his head. “Alene reads too much. I’m not calling her a liar mind, don’t ever say I was, but she probably got some other outlander mixed up with an Aiel.” He nodded along to his own reasoning.

“Whitecloaks and Trollocs and Shienarans and Aiel. The whole world’s gone mad,” despite his words, there was an excited gleam in Elam’s dark eyes. He rubbed at his square chin thoughtfully as he surveyed the outlanders’ camp.

The two of them were far from the only ones fascinated by the strange new arrivals.

Smoke made feathery grey plumes above farmhouse chimneys, as goodwives went about the morning’s baking; men dotted the distant fields of tabac or barley, and boys watched flocks of black-faced sheep in the pastures. But most of Emond’s Field found some reason or another to pass near the village Green every few minutes or so, and there wasn’t a man or woman who didn’t want a quiet word with one of his neighbours. Invariably those conversations happened much like his and Elam’s, with the folk standing beside one another and watching the outlanders. Not far away, he could see Kenley Ahan animatedly discussing something with the Torfinn brothers. Dav was tempted to go join them. Rhea Torfinn’s house was near the Green and her sons might have seen something before word of events ever reached Dav’s house.

“Fuck me!” Elam cursed, under his breath. “Is that a woman?”

“The skinny one? Nah. I thought so, too, at first, but it’s a man. Look at his neck.”

“Not him, the big one with the grey ... ponytail ... thing, on the top of her head,” Elam pointed to the soldier he meant. Their face was as hard any of the other soldiers, but Dav thought Elam might have been right. There was a femininity to them, if a very—very!—strange kind. They noticed Elam’s pointing and Dav instantly wished he hadn’t, for the man—or woman—looked their way and frowned.

“I’m going to go talk to the Torfinns,” Dav choked.

“I’ll join you,” Elam added in a very tight voice.

Together they hastened from the bridge, giving the Green a healthy amount of space, as they circled around towards Jaim’s place.

Kenley Ahan gave a friendly wave of greeting when they approached but the Torfinn brothers just nodded solemnly. They’d been a grim pair ever since their little sister, Jancy, had been killed by Trollocs back on that horrible Winternight of last year. Jaim had always been a good shot, and a good friend. too, but now he was a great shot, and barely had time for friends at all. He had his bow strung already, leaning against the wall close to hand, with a full quiver sitting on the ground beside it.

“Have you heard? Rand and Perrin are back,” Jaim said.

Dav gave a start, and so did Elam. “Since when?” his friend demanded.

“Last night,” Kenley said. “My da saw Perrin come in with that lot. Though he said he didn’t recognise him until he spoke. There’s something wrong with his eyes, da said.”

Rowan Hurn wasn’t a man for making up tales. “Is he sick or something? Blood and ashes, don’t tell me he’s blind,” Dav said, shuddering.

“No, nothing like that. Da said they glowed in the dark, like a wolf’s,” Kenley confided excitedly.

Leof Torfinn gave him a dirty look. He was the oldest man there, and accounted a responsible sort even by the Women’s Circle, something Dav most certainly was not. “Men’s eyes don’t glow, Kenley. Stop making up tales. We have enough troubles to be managing without you adding to them.”

“It’s just what my da told me!”

“Rowan Hurn told you Perrin had a wolf’s eyes?” Leof said flatly. “That doesn’t sound like Master Hurn at all. Act your age.” Leof ignored Kenley’s indignant splutters and turned to Elam. “I saw Rand myself, a few hours ago. He was sitting with those soldiers, all dressed up in a fancy coat and armour. Nearly didn’t recognise him. He went off to the Winespring Inn and hasn’t been out since. There was a giant with him, too.”

“An Ogier, not a giant!” said Elam. “Alene mentioned him, too. Did you hear about the Aiel?”

Kenley stopped his angry mutters and turned wide eyes Elam’s way. “Aiel? Where?”

“Right here in Emond’s Field, at the inn.”

“Apparently,” Dav clarified. “But I’d trust a Coplin with my purse before I’d believe that tale.”

Elam gave him a sour look.

“Isn’t he the Warder from that Winternight?” said Jaim. Unlike Elam, he had the manners—and sense—not to point.

Dav followed his gaze to the tall, muscular man with the grey-streaked temples who was emerging from one of the tents. It only took a glance before he was nodding agreement with Jaim. It was hard to forget a man like that. Lan his name had been, unless Dav’s memory failed him completely. The Warder surveyed the area around the Green carefully before striding over to another, richer looking tent. He waited for a moment, then lent down to duck inside.

“Does that mean the—the Aes Sedai is here, too,” Elam said. “Moiraine?”

Dav nodded. “I’d wager that was her tent that he went to.”

“Well, with Trollocs at large in the Theren again, an Aes Sedai’s help would be welcome,” said Leof.

“Aes Sedai help always come with a price,” Dav said. “I’d rather we handled our own business.”

“Did you lose any family on Winternight, Dav Ayellin?” snapped Jaim. “No? Then you don’t know what you’re talking about and should hold your tongue.”

Dav eyed him warily. Jaim was a muscular sort, thick shouldered, stubborn and pugnacious. Dav didn’t think himself a coward, but he also didn’t fancy his chances against Jaim in a fight.

“Girls!” Elam declared happily. Dav was grateful for the distraction. And grateful for the chance to check out some unfamiliar females. Not that there weren’t some fine looking women in Emond’s Field of course, but it got a bit boring seeing the same faces every day.

The girls Elam was staring at were an exotic looking bunch. There were three of them, one older, and the oldest looking the most like a Theren woman. At least, if Theren women—other than Anna al’Tolan, and where was she now?—would walk around wearing a white shirt and dark trousers like a boy. She had her almost-black hair cut short of her shoulders. Despite all that, she didn’t really look that boyish to Dav. No boy he’d ever heard of had eyes that huge. She was actually quite pretty, once you looked past the strange clothes. One of the younger ones wore her hair short, too, and wore clothes that were even less feminine that the first one’s, but they looked nothing alike. That girl had pale skin and blue eyes and red hair. She and the third girl, a lovely little doll-like thing with long black hair and big blue eyes, who wore a proper dress, Dav was glad to note, were discussing something with the older one.

“Easy on the eyes, all three of them,” he pronounced. The other lads all nodded agreement, even Leof. Whatever the younger two had said to the other, she called out something to a lean old man, whose grey hair hung to his shoulders. He immediately turned his feet her way and joined their discussion. As they spoke, the girls began glancing towards the Winespring Inn, and as soon as the old man stopped talking, all four started walking their way.

One of the armoured sentries, a boulder-like man with an army’s worth of weapons hanging from his person, spoke to the old man as he passed, but the girl with the short, dark hair waved him off with an easy smile. She turned that smile Dav’s way as she drew close and he amended his earlier judgement. There was no way anyone could think she was a boy. He stood up straight, for all the good it did—he was short by the standards of Theren men—and wished his sisters had done a better job of fixing his hair.

“Hey there,” she said. “Have any of you seen Rand? Tall, red hair, big shoulders, bit of a looby. Too pretty for his own good.”

Dav ignored the elbow Elam dug into his ribs, and the low snicker the other boy let out. He kept his smile fixed on his face. “I heard he was in the Winespring Inn, Mistress. Ah, is he a friend of yours, too?”

“You might say that,” she said with a long-suffering sigh. For a moment, her attention drifted to something beyond Dav’s shoulder. “Black on black on black? What’s that mean?” she muttered.

“We’re his maids,” said the little, black-haired doll cheerfully. Dav felt his jaw drop.

“Maids,” Jaim muttered to himself. “Rand has maids?”

“ _ They’re _ his maids!” the first girl insisted. “I am not his bloody maid, and I’ll kick anyone who says otherwise!”

The doll looked hurt. “’Tis a great honour to serve thy lord.” The old man nodded firm agreement. Dav couldn’t tell what the last of them thought; she had hidden herself behind the man as soon as Dav spoke.

The non-maid rolled her eyes openly at her companions, though she smiled as she did so. “Anyway, I’m Min Farshaw, from Baerlon. This is Saeri, Luci and Hurin,” she said, pointing to each of the others as he named them.

“Dav Ayellin. Cowlick here is Elam Dowtry, the brothers grim are Jaim and Leof Torfinn, and the runt over there is Kenley Ahan.” To a man, they objected loudly to his descriptions, but Min just laughed.

“You remind me a bit of Rand’s friend Mat.”

“He’s my friend, too!” Dav grinned. “Did he come back with you?”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. I haven’t seen him in a long time. Though he’s perfectly healthy, I can promise you that much. Well Dav, it was nice meeting you, but I have to go make sure Rand hasn’t gotten himself in trouble again. A woman’s work is never done.”

Dav saw an opportunity. “You’ve never been to Emond’s Field before, so you could probably use a guide. It would be rude not to show you the way.” Even the Mayor would have to agree to that. Maybe he’d even get to see these supposed Aiel Elam kept going on about.

“I’ll help, too,” Elam said, catching on to Dav’s plan quickly.

Min looked from them to the nearby inn and back again. “I ... could probably make it without getting lost,” she drawled, then laughed softly. “But if you want to come with us, that’s fine.”

The Torfinns stayed behind and so did Kenley, though he looked as if he wanted to invite himself along but was too shy to. The rest of them headed for the Winespring Inn.

“How did you meet Rand?” Dav asked as they walked.

“I helped him track down the Darkfriends who stole the Horn of Valere,” said Hurin. Dav eyed him warily. He’d heard some oldsters could lose their wits like that.

“He cameth to Luci and I’s rescue when Trollocs destroyed our home town—eth?” Saeri said, confusingly. Luci gave a single, short nod at that.

Min smiled at Dav, a light of mockery in her eyes. “I met him when he passed through Baerlon a year ago, then later we teamed up to rescue a princess from some evil slavers.”

“It seemed a simple enough question,” Dav muttered, “there’s no need to make fun.”

Min was still laughing when she pushed open the door to the inn. The place was as packed as Dav had ever seen it. Mistress al’Vere had called all her remaining daughters in to help her and Bran, something she almost never needed to do. A sizable portion of the Women’s Circle were gathered in the tall chairs near the fireplace, including Dav’s own mother, who’s dark eyes narrowed at the sight of him, but as worrying as that was, it was the strangers that demanded his attention.

Two more of the armoured Shienarans had planted themselves at the sides of the door. They looked at Dav and Elam as though they were sheep they were considered culling, and he couldn’t help but shiver. One of them was the scariest man he’d ever seen, a one eyed brute with a scarred face and a greying ponytail-thing. The patch that covered his missing eye was painted with a glaring red eye that was, if anything, more friendly than his remaining brown one.

“Hey, Uno. Is Rand about?” Min said, just as though she was talking a normal man.

“Still in bed,” one-eye grunted. “Should be out in the bloody camp, where we can flaming protect him, instead of sleeping in here.” Elam stared at him nearly as hard as Dav did. He wanted to protect Rand ... from them?

Min seemed to share his incredulity. She shook her head as she spoke. “These are his people, Uno. I doubt they’ll do him any harm. Relax, for once.”

“Now there’s a sensible girl,” Mistress al’Vere said as she approached. “Welcome to the Winespring Inn. I am Marin al’Vere, the owner, and the Mayor of this village. Are you looking for a room?” She took a quick glance at Min’s clothes but said nothing about them.

“Hi there. Min Farshaw’s the name. I don’t know if we’ll be needing rooms, to be honest, we haven’t decided how long we’ll be staying. But if there’s breakfast on the menu I’d love to have some.”

“Loise?” Marin said. The nearest of the al’Vere sisters was looking harassed already, but she came at her mother’s call and managed a tight smile as she led Min and her friends to an unoccupied table. Dav heard her ask Min if what she was wearing was the fashion where she came from, before he stopped listening. Who cared about fashion? Especially when there were so many strangers to see.

And what strangers they were! Two women and a man, dressed in brown and greys with strange hoods wrapped around their shoulders and a multitude of weapons hanging from their persons, sat apart from the crowd. Their hair was all in various shades of red, a hair colour he’d only ever seen on Rand before today. The shy girl, Luci, had the same colouring, but these three were nothing like her. It wasn’t just the way they dressed. They seemed to be on the verge of action, even while sitting at table. Dav had the feeling they had studied him down to his stockings the moment he stepped into the common room. Their eyes were an exotic array of colours, green and blue and grey, but above all they were hard and cold. Those had to be the ones that Alene had thought were Aiel. Looking at them, he could understand why she might think that. Those were just the sort of people who might invade a continent.

Even more eye-catching than those three was the giant sat cross-legged on the floor, gesturing animatedly at Alene with the book held in his huge paw.  _ An Ogier. An Ogier for true! _ He had black hair and large, light-coloured eyes. That might have been normal enough, and his form was vaguely human, but it wasn’t just size that marked him out. His nose and mouth were unnaturally wide, and those ears had never belonged to any man. They were too long, too straight, and too hairy. As he watched, the Ogier’s ears twitched without anyone even touching them; Dav jumped slightly in response.

“Did you see that?” Elam whispered excitedly. Dav could only nod.

There was another stranger, too, if a slightly more normal looking one than the Shienarans, Ogier and possible-Aiel. She was a young woman in a narrow-skirted blue dress, whose straight, black hair brushed her shoulders. Her eyes were oddly tilted and her skin tan, despite spring having only just arrived. She had strikingly high cheekbones and a hooked nose that would have done an eagle proud. He couldn’t decide if she was pretty or not, but she was certainly striking. She sat with Daisy Congar, the new Wisdom, and fielded her questions with a fearlessness that Dav envied. Daisy wasn’t just a member of the Women’s Circle and the Wisdom of Emond’s Field, she was also taller than many of the men in the village, including Dav, and pretty muscular for a woman as well. Smart men avoided Daisy Congar; smart women, too. Having her as Wisdom was almost enough to make Dav miss Nynaeve.

Elisa al’Vere emerged from the kitchen with a tray of cakes balanced in her hands. She looked more serious than usual today. Her elder sister, Berowyn, came behind her with another tray, this one filled with cups of tea. Berowyn, unlike Elisa, was almost always serious, but now she had the wide-eyed look of a woman who was near panic.

There weren’t many Emond’s Field men in the inn, other than Bran. Rowan Hurn and Wit Congar, Daisy’s scrawny husband, were the only two that Dav could see, and they had the stubborn look of men who knew they weren’t wanted but meant to stay anyway. They avoiding looking at the gathered Women’s Circle so intently that they might as well have been staring.

Elam was doing the same, come to think of it. His mother Ellan sat among the women, and was regarding her son sternly, her lips pinched beneath the long nose she’d given him. She exchanged words with Dav’s mother and Dav saw a decision being made. He grimaced, but before they could act there came the sound of heavy footsteps from upstairs.

Talk was silenced and all eyes turned to the stairs. “... can’t say how sorry I am, Perrin,” he heard a familiar voice say. “Thanks,” Perrin said gruffly in response, but as he descended the stairs he had his face and eyes turned away, as though he didn’t want to talk about it. Dav knew what they were discussing. The shocking news of the Aybaras’ fates had rocked the whole village on its heels. He couldn’t imagine what it had done to Perrin. When his old friend noticed everyone watching, he paused on the stairs and blinked his eyes. His yellow, wolf-like eyes. Dav felt his jaw drop.  _ Burn me, Kenley wasn’t lying _ . Perrin still dressed like a Theren man, but even aside from the eyes he seemed a stranger to Dav. The axe that hung from a loop on his belt looked as though it was a familiar part of him, and the curly brown beard that covered his jaw added years to his age. There were only a few months of age difference between them but suddenly Dav felt as though he was a lot younger.

“I told you,” he heard Master Hurn mutter to Wit, whose lips writhed as though he’d bitten into something sour.

The hook-nosed young woman rose from her chair and quickly went to greet Perrin, so quickly in fact that Dav started to wonder if there wasn’t something going on between them. He couldn’t hear their soft words, but he recognised the stubborn look on Perrin’s face. That much, at least, hadn’t changed.

As Perrin moved away from the stairs, avoiding everyone’s eyes, another man began to descend. This one was not dressed like a Theren man at all. He had polished steel buckled over his chest and back, his shoulders and neck. The heavy gloves he wore were also studded with steel and stretched back to mid-forearm. His boots had been armoured, too, and underneath that steel was what looked like the finest leather. His clothes looked as expensive as Lord Luc’s, and were of a similar cut for that matter. Dark breeches and a red coat embroidered in gold thread completed the ensemble, the coat hanging to his knees. From his waist hung a slightly curved sword with a long, two-handed hilt. One hand rested on that hilt as he came down the stairs, and on the middle finger of that hand, set in a ring of silver, shone a ruby so large you could probably have bought any farm in the Theren with the gold it would bring. Dav knew it was Rand he was looking at but he seemed even more a stranger than Perrin had. His face hadn’t changed: grey eyes, red hair, clean shaven, handsome enough to get all the women to watch him when they thought no-one would notice. But there was something ... off about him. Rand had always hunched slightly, as though embarrassed to be so much taller than anyone else in the Theren. Now he stood straight. He’d always had an open face, too, but that was long gone. His mouth was set grimly now, his thoughts closed away behind a weary, brooding countenance. He surveyed the room with sharp, restless eyes and unlike Perrin he did not look away from the Thereners’ scrutiny, neither Master Hurn’s nor even the Women’s Circle’s.

Startled murmurs arose from the gathered folk. Elisa and Berowyn had stopped in the middle of the room, their trays forgotten in their hands, and were staring wide-eyed at Rand.

“What do you think you are wearing, young man?” Daisy demanded.

“Clothes. And armour,” Rand said dryly, turning those grey eyes on the Wisdom. He didn’t look at all intimidated.

“Don’t you sass me, boy!”

Rand’s smile showed his teeth, white and suddenly sharp to Dav’s eyes. “Ask a silly question and you should expect a silly answer, Daisy. Congratulations on your appointment, by the way. I can’t wait to tell Nynaeve about it.”

The Wisdom was at a loss for words. Matti Ahan spoke into the silence. “You’ve been away from Emond’s Field a long time, Rand al’Thor. I hope you haven’t been taking up outlander ways.” Kenley’s busty young aunt, Sammi, sat beside her sister and nodded along with her words, as did many others among the Women’s Circle.

“Outlander ways aren’t all that different from our own,” Rand sighed. “You’ll be pleased to hear. So, no. Not their ways. Perrin tells me the Cauthons and Candwins have been kidnapped by Whitecloaks. Mistress Luhhan and Master Weyland, too. Are you convened to decide what to do about it?”

“Women’s Circle business is none of yours, Rand, however big your head has grown,” Daisy declared. The other woman joined her in staring censure Rand’s way but their combined glares, which made any man in Emond’s Field walk warily, slid off Rand like water off a duck’s back.

“The safety of Mat’s family is,” he replied calmly. Daisy’s eyes widened as he spoke. “If you aren’t going to do something about this, then I will. Each moment they linger in Padan Fain’s company is a moment that might mean their deaths.”

“And the Whitecloaks aren’t much better,” Perrin growled.

“The Children had some things to say about you two,” Wit Congar put in. “Said you’d been associating with Aes Sedai and worse. Said you were Darkfriends.”

Rand laughed briefly. “The first Whitecloak I ever met accused me of that, too. Up in Baerlon. Know why? Because I laughed when he slid in the muck and got his cloak dirty. Did they accuse little Imoen Candwin of being a Darkfriend, too? Or Eldrin Cauthon? What age are they now, twelve, thirteen?” He shook his head. “I refuse to believe you are foolish enough to believe that trash.”

“Well obviously the girls can’t be Darkfriends. I never said they were!” Wit groused, hunching his shoulders. There were angry mutters from the gathered women.

Rand was relentless. “And yet they are in chains. With an axe hovering over their young necks. What do we mean to do about that?”

“There’s nothing we can do, Rand,” Mistress al’Vere said. “There are hundreds of the Children of the Light camped around Watch Hill and Taren Ferry. Soldiers, armed and armoured and mounted on fast horses. I share your concern for the Cauthons and all the other prisoners, but what can I do?”

Rand and Perrin exchanged looks. “Armour isn’t as effective against a Theren longbow as you might imagine,” Perrin said reluctantly. “And the Whitecloaks aren’t as good as they like to think themselves. We could get them out.”

“Nynaeve snuck past their sentries once. I’d never hear the end of it if I couldn’t do the same,” Rand said with a half smile.  _ Nynaeve did? How? When? _ Dav stared at his old friends; his former friends perhaps. He felt at a loss, left out, as though he’d walked in on the tail end of a conversation.

“And what then?” demanded Rhea Torfinn, Jaim’s mother. “What happens when the Children come looking for them again? You’ll bring them down on us all with your foolish bravado.” Her lined face was set even more grimly than her sons’ tended to be.

Perrin sighed and Rand nodded, but neither backed down. “They’ll probably accuse anyone who helped the Cauthons of being Darkfriends, too,” said Rand, “Along with anyone who helped anyone who helped the Cauthons. You should be prepared for that. But if the price of not getting on the Whitecloaks’ bad side is leaving our people to die, it’s a price I’m not willing to pay.”

“Those goat kissing pretty boys won’t know what bloody hit them,” Uno said. He straightened up, looking embarrassed, and Dav thought he would apologise to the women for cursing in front of them, but it was Rand he looked at. “Apologies, my Lord. Forgot myself.”

Alene laughed softly, and looked back and forth between the men as though she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. At her side, the Ogier sat forgotten.

“What’s this Lord business, Rand?” Elisa said with a confused smile.

“It’s nothing,” Rand began, looking discomfited for the first time since he’d come downstairs.

“Rand ‘tis a hero now. He vanquished the Trollocs in Falmerden, and defeated the Seanchan’s High Lord in single combat. He holds our fealty, as his maids and armsmen,” little Saeri said with such unhesitant devotion that Dav had to stare at her.  _ Falmerden?  _ He vaguely recalled seeing that mentioned on Mistress al’Vere’s map. It was somewhere out west, and a long way west, too. He’d never heard of a place called Seanchan though. Incredulous looks were exchanged among the Emond’s Fielders over the girl’s words.

“That’s enough of that, Saeri,” Rand said uncomfortably. “Discretion, remember?”

She dipped a curtsy at his mild rebuke. Elisa huffed a laugh while her sister Berowyn stared at Rand as though she’d never seen him before. Dav wasn’t sure he wasn’t doing the same.

“Only some of our fealty,” Min clarified. She was sitting with her chin in her hand, not quite covering the wry smile she wore. “Some of us just tag along because we feel sorry for him.”

Far from being offended, Rand actually grinned in pleasure at her mockery. He seemed almost like his old self then, if only for a moment. Marin turned to look at Min consideringly. Whatever she saw made her smile.

Dav heard the door open behind him and spun around in surprise, imagining Whitecloaks marching into the inn. It was just Anna though, standing in the doorway and frowning around at everyone. He smiled to see her familiar face.

Anna had still seemed normal to him at first. Or as normal as she had ever been. A girl dressing in boy’s clothes had seemed the weirdest of things once, and she still dressed so, in the same plain grey coat and brown trousers she’d usually worn. But as he got a proper look at her face, he found his smile fading.

She was still the same Anna he’d known. Her eyes hadn’t somehow changed colour or anything, but the more he looked the more different she seemed. There was a steadiness to her dark gaze, an unblinking directness. Almost a hardness even. She had seen and done things that others had not, those eyes seemed to say, and she was fully prepared to do them all again. Young as she was, she didn’t look like a girl anymore, she looked like a woman, and a woman not to be trifled with at that.

“Anna. I’m glad to see you are well,” Marin said.

“The same to you Mistress al’Vere. To all of you,” Anna responded gruffly. She strode into the room, and Dav and Elam parted to make way for her. She was a short, stocky woman, whose head even he could have looked over without stretching, but somehow her presence demanded they move. She ran her eyes over the assembly as she approached Rand. “What’s the trouble this time?”

“Rescue mission. For the Cauthons, Candwins and Luhhans,” he said matter-of-factly.

Anna nodded as though such a thing was an everyday occurrence. “Just give me a moment to visit my da’s grave and I’ll be right with you.” Rand reached out and gave her shoulder a light squeeze. Perrin’s hands tightened into fists and stayed that way, with no mind for the comforting way the hook-nosed woman rubbed his arm.

Loise spoke up, something she rarely did in large gatherings like this. “We put him in the southern field, the one with the big oak in the middle of it. That’s where we buried all the folk who died back then. The ones whose kin didn’t take them elsewhere, anyway. I can show you if you like.”

“I’d appreciate that, Loise,” Anna said, without a hint of the tears you might have expected at such a time. Dav was left shuffling his feet in silence, feeling rather embarrassingly like a child who had intruded on his parents.

“Stubborn foolish,” Mistress al’Vere said, “the lot of you. Very likely you will all end up on gallows, if you live that long. You know that, don’t you?” When they only looked at her, she untied her apron and lifted it over her head. “Well, if you are foolish enough to stay, I suppose I had better show you where to hide. If everyone keeps quiet, as they should,” she added, frowning at Wit, and at Dav and Elam, too, “then perhaps we can hope the Whitecloaks won’t even know you came to visit.”


	39. Beyond the Oak

CHAPTER 36: Beyond the Oak

Rand was still stewing in his own embarrassment when Marin gestured towards the kitchen, plainly seeking privacy. All of those present who had accompanied him back to Emond’s Field rose and walked towards the door, ready to charge into danger once more. He wished it wasn’t necessary. And perhaps, for some, it wasn’t. They’d need to move quickly, to lessen the chances of Fain killing Mat’s family before they could get to them. Marin spoke of hiding, but it was only Rand and Perrin that needed to hide from the Whitecloaks.

“Saeri. Luci. I want you to stay here for a while.”

The two girls stopped in their tracks and exchanged startled glances. “My Lord? Have we displeased you?” Saeri said, innocently adding to Rand’s embarrassment.

He tried to hide it as best he could, for her sake, but doubted there was anyone there who couldn’t see through the facade. “Of course not. But we are going to need to move quickly through the woods, and neither of you are well suited to that. I’d like you to help Mistress al’Vere around the inn while I’m gone. I’m sure she’d be willing to see you fed and housed in exchange for a little work.”

“It would be no trouble at all,” Marin said, smiling her kind, motherly smile. The girls smiled back, even Luci momentarily forgetting to cower in her silence.

“It won’t take long. The downcountry’s pretty small,” Min told them reassuringly, not noticing the sharp looks she got from the Theren folk who didn’t know her as well as Rand did.

He shifted his feet. “Ah, Min? It might be best if you stayed with them,” he said hesitantly.

She reacted just about how he’d expected her to, planting her fists on her hips and scowling. “Are you trying to leave me behind? Well, that’s gratitude for you! And to think I told Elayne you weren’t the woolheaded farmboy I first thought you!”

“Uh, thanks. It’s not that I don’t enjoy your company, it’s just that you’d be safer here.” Her big, nearly black eyes shone at that, but not in a good way. Rand continued hastily. “And also, well, you’re not exactly a stealthy woodswoman. So ...”

“Oh, you don’t think I can sneak through some trees, is that it? Well I could, if I wanted to.” Rand, Perrin and Anna exchanged dubious looks. Min met their combined stares defiantly at first, but then she abruptly wilted, her cheeks colouring slightly. “Well, if I wanted to learn I could,” she muttered. “But I  _ am _ a city girl at heart.”

“You could be a great hunter if you wanted to be,” Rand said brightly.

“The best,” Perrin added, ignoring Zarine’s sharp look.

“I worry you’d put me to shame,” Anna said with a too-bright grin.

Min had a sulky look on her face, but she sighed in defeat. “Fine. I’ll stay. It’s not like I’ve never worked at an inn before. But you better not be thinking of running off and leaving me here.”

“Never,” Rand promised. “Could you tell Geko to get the men ready to ride for me?”

She folded her arms. “If you asked me nicely, I might.”

“Please, Min? It’s important,” he sighed.

“Good boy. Consider it done,” she said, and just like that her grin was back in place. It never seemed to stay gone for long. He lo-liked that about her.

Suddenly feeling even more uncomfortable than he had when all the folk from home were staring at him as if he was a stranger, Rand turned on his heel and strode towards the kitchen. He felt a tightness between his shoulders, as though Dav and Elam and the others were all still giving him those looks. He’d known coming home would be difficult, but knowing hadn’t helped prepare him for it.

Marin was among those who came with him to the kitchen, walking at a much more sedate pace. She raised her brows when his eyes met hers, and gave him a small, private smile.

Her husband looked surprised at something, which have Rand a moment’s alarm. But what he said had nothing to do with his wife’s fidelity. “I thought perhaps the old sickhouse, Marin. No-one ever goes there now, and I think it still has most of its roof.”

What was still called the new sickhouse, where people were taken to be tended if their illness was contagious, had stood east of the village, beyond Mistress Thane’s mill, since Rand was a small boy. The old one, in the Westwood, had been all but destroyed in a fierce windstorm back then. Rand remembered it as half-covered by vines and briars, with birds roosting in what was left of the thatch and a badger’s den under the back steps. It would be a good place to hide if they needed it, though he was far from certain they would.

Marin gave Bran a sharp look, as though startled he had thought of it. “That will do, I suppose. That is where I will take them.”

“No need for you to do it, Marin. I can lead them easy enough, if they don’t remember the way.”

“Sometimes you forget I’m the Mayor, Bran. It’s my responsibility to do these sorts of things. Why don’t you stay here, and if anyone drops by, see they go away thinking everything is just as it should be. There’s mutton stew in the kettle, and lentil soup that just needs heating. Now don’t mention the sickhouse to anyone, Bran. Best if no-one even remembers it exists.”

“I am not a fool, Marin,” he said stiffly.

“I know you aren’t, dear.” She patted her husband’s cheek, but her fond look tightened as it shifted from Bran to the rest of them. “You do cause trouble,” she muttered before handing out instructions.

They were to travel in smaller parties so as not to attract attention. She would cross the village by herself and meet them in the woods on the other side. The Aiel assured her they could find the lightning-split oak she described, and slipped out by the back door. Rand knew it, a huge tree, a mile beyond the edge of the village, that looked as if it had been cleft down the middle by an axe yet somehow continued to live and even flourish. He was sure he and Perrin could go straight to the sickhouse itself with no trouble, but Marin insisted everyone meet at the oak.

“You go wandering about by yourself, Rand, and the Light knows what you might stumble into.” She looked up at Loial—standing now, his shaggy hair brushing the ceiling beams—and sighed. “I do wish there was something we could do about your height, Master Loial. I know it is hot, but would you mind wearing your cloak, with the hood up? Even these days most people will soon convince themselves they didn’t see what they saw if it isn’t what they expect, but if they catch a glimpse of your face ... Not that you aren’t quite handsome, I’m sure, but you’ll never pass for a Therener.”

Loial’s smile split his face in two beneath his wide snout of a nose. “The day doesn’t seem too warm for a cloak at all, Mistress al’Vere.”

Fetching a light, knit shawl with blue fringe, she accompanied them out to the stableyard to see them off, and for a moment it appeared all their efforts at secrecy were doomed. Cenn Buie, looking made from gnarled old roots, was waiting for them.

His beady eyes widened when they caught sight of Loial, and Cenn’s jaw flapped. “Tr—Tr— Trolloc!” he managed to get out at last.

“Don’t be an old fool, Cenn Buie,” Marin said firmly, stepping off to one side to pull the thatcher’s attention with her. Perrin kept his head down, studying his bow, and did not move. Rand thought their efforts futile. Cenn was a fool in many ways, but he wasn’t stupid. He could hardly fail to notice them now. He stood where he was and waited for the explosion. “Would I be standing on my own back doorstep with a Trolloc?” She gave a contemptuous sniff. “Master Loial is an Ogier, as you would know if you weren’t a cantankerous goose who would rather complain than look at what’s under his nose. Passing through, and with no time to be bothered by the likes of you. You be on about your business and leave our guests some peace. You know very well that Corin Ayellin has been after you for months about the poor work you did on her roof.”

Cenn mouthed the word “Ogier,” silent and blinking. For a moment it seemed he might rouse himself in defence of his handiwork, but then his gaze shifted to Rand and narrowed. “Him! It’s him! They’re after you, you young whelp, rapscallion, running off with Aes Sedai and becoming a Darkfriend. That was when we had Trollocs before. Now you’re back, and so are they. You going to tell me that’s coincidence? And the other one’s with you I see. What’s wrong with your eyes, Aybara? You sick? You have some kind of sickness from off you’ve brought back to kill us all, as if Trollocs are not enough? The Children of the Light will settle you. See if they don’t.”

Perrin noticed Zarine tensing, and hastily put a hand on her arm. “What do you think you’re doing?” Rand heard him whisper. “Cenn is an irascible old fool, but that is no reason for knives.” She gave an exasperated toss of her head, but at least she left it at that. The Shienarans stood where they were, watching for a signal from Rand.

“That is enough, Cenn,” Marin said sharply. “You keep this to yourself. Or have you started running to the Whitecloaks with tales, like Hari and his brother Darl? I’ve my suspicions why the Whitecloaks came rummaging through my books. They took six off with them, and lectured me under my own roof about blasphemy. Blasphemy, of all things! Because they didn’t agree with what was in a book. You’re lucky I don’t make you replace those books. They burrowed through the whole inn like weasels. Hunting for more blasphemous writings, they said, as if anyone would hide a book. Tumbled all the mattresses from the beds, upset my linen closets. You are lucky I didn’t come haul you back here to put it all to rights again.”

Cenn drew in on himself a little more with each sentence, until he looked to be trying to pull his bony shoulders over his head. “I didn’t tell them anything, Marin,” he protested. “Just because a man mentions—That is, I just happened to say, just in passing—” He shook himself, still avoiding her eye but regaining some of his old manner. “I mean to take this up with the Council, Marin. Them, I mean.” He pointed a gnarled finger at Rand and Perrin. “We’re all in danger as long as they’re here. If the Children find out you’re sheltering them, they might blame the rest of us. Upset closets won’t be in it, then.”

“This is Women’s Circle business.” Marin rewrapped her shawl about her shoulders and moved to stand eye to eye with the thatcher. He was a little taller than she, but her sudden air of grave formality gave her the edge. He spluttered, but she rode right over his attempts to slide a word in. “Circle business, Cenn Buie. If you think it isn’t—if you even dare think of calling me a liar—you go flapping your tongue. You breathe a word of Women’s Circle business to anyone, including the Village Council and see if you don’t end up sleeping in the barn. And eating what the milk cows leave. I’ll send Daisy Congar over to convince you, if you need convincing.”

Cenn flinched, as well he might. With Daisy Congar as the Wisdom, she would probably force foul-tasting concoctions down his throat every day for the next year, and Cenn was too scrawny to stop her. Alsbet Luhhan was the only woman in Emond’s Field larger than Daisy, and Daisy had a mean streak and a temper to go with it. Nynaeve would probably have a fit when she found out who had replaced her. Nynaeve had always believed she used sweet reason, herself.

“No need to get nasty, Marin,” Cenn muttered placatingly. “You want me to keep quiet, I’ll keep quiet. But Women’s Circle or no, you’re risking bringing the Children down on all of us.” Marin merely raised her eyebrows, and after a moment he slunk away, grumbling under his breath.

“Well done,” Zarine said when Cenn disappeared around the corner of the inn. “I think I need to take lessons from you. I am not half so good at handling Perrin as you are with Master al’Caar and that fellow.” She smiled at Perrin, who looked confused at what he was hearing.

“You have to know when to rein them short,” the older woman replied absently, “and when there’s nothing to do but give them their head. Letting them have their way when it isn’t important makes it easier to check them when it is.” She was frowning after Cenn, not really paying attention to what she was saying, except maybe when she added, “And some should be tied in the stall and left there.” Rand sighed internally. It was not as if he didn’t know how Marin saw him, and other men. Her daughter had thought the same. He still didn’t appreciate being likened to an animal though.

Perrin leaped in hastily. “Will he hold his tongue do you think, Mistress al’Vere?”

Hesitating, she said, “I believe he will. Cenn was born with a sore tooth that’s only gotten worse as he ages, but he isn’t like Hari Coplin or that lot.” Still, she had hesitated.

“We had best be moving,” Perrin said. No-one argued.

He left with Loial and Zarine while Rand and the three Shienarans took their own route to the meeting place. Rand thought it a needless ruse, and wondered what Marin was up to. She’d never lacked for boldness before, so why all this caution?

The sun was higher than he had expected, past its midday height already, which meant most people were indoors for their dinner. The few still out, mainly boys minding sheep or cows, were busy eating what they had brought with them wrapped up in a cloth, too absorbed in their food and too far from the cart paths to pay much mind to anyone passing, even the newly arrived soldiers.

It was a surprise then, when he found two people waiting for him at the edge of the wood. Moiraine stood with her hands folded patiently before her, all cool serenity in her fine blue dress with the hood of her equally blue cloak pulled up. How she had known he would be there, Rand could not begin to guess. He wouldn’t have noticed Lan lurking nearby if Moiraine’s presence hadn’t inspired him to look carefully. The Warder had his colour-shifting cloak on, making him look like a disembodied face floating against the trunk of a tree.

“How did you find me?” Rand asked as he drew near.

“Easily,” Moiraine replied. He knew it was all the answer he would get, and did not bother asking for more. He strode past the pair, leaving them to follow or not as they pleased.

He had no trouble finding the split oak, the two halves leaning apart in a wide fork with the inner surface black and hardened like iron, the ground beneath the thick spreading branches clear. Merely crossing the village was much shorter than going around, so Marin was already waiting, shifting her shawl a trifle impatiently. The Aiel were there, too, squatting on the mulch of old oak leaves and squirrel-chewed acorn hulls, Gaul apart from the two women. The Maidens and Gaul watched each other almost as closely as the surrounding woods. Rand had no doubt they had managed to reach this spot unobserved. He wished he had that ability; he could stalk fairly well in the woods, but the Aiel did not seem to care if it was forest or farmland or city. When they did not want to be seen, they found a way not to be seen.

When she recognised Moiraine, Marin went very still, her lips thinning. The Aes Sedai met her stare calmly.

“You took my daughter to fight ... to fight someone she could not hope to defeat,” Marin said at last, in a breathy voice.

Moiraine ran her cold gaze over Rand before answering Marin’s charge. “Someone who had to be defeated, and who ultimately was. Egwene was apprised of the dangers and chose to face them. She was a very brave girl. I mourn her loss. She would have made an excellent Aes Sedai.”

“She was only a child. My child. You should not have taken her out of the village without my approval,” said Marin, with rising anger.

“As I understand your custom, a girl is considered a woman when she is permitted to braid her hair. Egwene’s hair was braided when she asked to accompany me. And she did ask. It had been my original intention to leave without her.”

“You’re saying it was her fault!?” Marin snapped.

“I am saying that she made her own choices, and that no-one, not even I, forced her towards the fate she met. It was a tragedy, but one for which no-one is to blame save the man who killed her,” Moiraine finished, still as unruffled as a marble statue.

Marin’s lips worked but no sound came out. She turned away from Moiraine and gathered her shawl about her thin shoulders. Rand wanted to put his arm around her but knew she would be—rightly—furious with him if he did.

They waited in an uncomfortable silence for Perrin and the others. Thankfully, they had only a short time to wait. Once they arrived, Marin led them the rest of the way. Perrin walked along with his head down, lost in thought. Rand wondered whether it was grief for the lost or worry for the living that gave him that haunted look. He wished there was something he could do for his friend. But what could anyone do in the face of such a loss?

No-one from the village had come this way in years, and the path had vanished, yet tall trees kept the undergrowth down to a large extent. The Aiel slipped along silently with everyone else, acceding to Marin’s insistence that they all stay together. Loial murmured approvingly at great oaks or particularly tall fir trees and leatherleaf. Occasionally a mocker or redbreast sang in the trees.

Suddenly he heard a faint rustle. The Aiel tensed, crouching with spears ready. Perrin reached to his quiver, Rand and the Shienarans for their swords. Only Moiraine and Lan remained still.

“Be at ease,” Marin said urgently, motioning for weapons to be lowered. “Please, be at ease.”

Abruptly there were two men standing ahead, one tall and dark and slender to the left, and to the right another, short and whipcord thin, with a long, black moustache. Both held bows with arrows nocked, ready to raise and draw, with quivers balancing the swords on their hips. Both wore cloaks that seemed to fade into the surrounding foliage. Rand reached for and seized  _ saidin _ immediately.

“Warders!” Perrin exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell us there are Aes Sedai here, Mistress al’Vere? Master al’Caar never mentioned it either. Why?”

“Because he doesn’t know,” she said hurriedly. “I did not lie when I said this is Women’s Circle business.” She turned her attention to the two Warders, neither of whom had relaxed an inch. “Ihvon, Hou, you know me. Put those bows down. You know I’d not bring anyone here if they meant harm.”

“An Ogier,” the skinny man said in a nasally voice, “Shienarans, Aiel, a yellow-eyed man—the one the Whitecloaks seek of course—a fierce young woman with a knife, and a sister of the Blue. A strange group you bring here, Mistress al’Vere. My lovely Aes Sedai may lovingly cook you in your own oven as a reward.” Perrin glanced at Zarine; she held a blade ready to throw. The Aiel looked ready to begin dancing the spears without waiting to veil themselves.

Moiraine glided forward silently. She stopped before the two Warders, paying no heed whatsoever to their ready weapons, and studied them as though they were a pair of books. “I see,” she said, though what she saw she kept to herself. As usual.

These might be allies of hers, but they showed no sign of lowering their bows yet; their faces might as well have been carved from stone. “We shall all see, soon,” the skinny man went on. “Ihvon?” The slender, brown-skinned man nodded and melted silently into the undergrowth. Warders moved like death itself when they wanted to.

“What do you mean, Women’s Circle business?” Perrin demanded. “I know Whitecloaks would cause trouble if they knew about Aes Sedai, so you wouldn’t want to tell Hari Coplin, but why keep it secret from Master al’Caar? And us?”

“Because we agreed to,” Marin said irritably. The irritation seemed meant in equal parts for Perrin and the Warder still guarding them—there was no other word for it—with maybe a bit left over for the Aes Sedai. “They were at Watch Hill when the Whitecloaks came. No-one there knew who they were except the Circle there, who passed them on to us to hide. From everyone, Perrin. It’s the best way to keep a secret, if only a few know. Light preserve me, I know two women who have stopped sharing their husbands’ beds for fear they might talk in their sleep. We agreed to keep it secret.”

“Why did you decide to change that?” the skinny Warder asked.

“For what I consider good and sufficient reasons, Ho.” From the way she shifted her shawl, Rand suspected she was hoping the Aes Sedai thought so, too. “Where better to hide you, Perrin, than with Aes Sedai? Surely you aren’t afraid of them, not after leaving here with one. And ... You will find out soon enough. You just have to trust me.”

“There are Aes Sedai and Aes Sedai,” Perrin told her. He eyed the Warder with hostility and wariness mixed. The Aiel seemed to agree; they still looked ready to spring in any direction at any moment, but they looked as if they could stand where they were until the sun froze, too. Uno and Han had planted themselves in front of Rand. The Warder would have to shoot them both to get to him. Perrin patted Zarine on the shoulder. “It will be all right,” he said.

“Of course it will,” she replied, smiling. She had put the knife away. “If Mistress al’Vere says it, I trust her.”

Moiraine came to stand close to Rand’s shoulder and spoke in a voice pitched so low that he had to strain to hear her. “Do nothing to draw attention to yourself. Let me handle this. These Aes Sedai are known to me, but they are not my friends, and certainly not yours.”

After a few minutes, Ihvon returned. “You can go ahead, Mistress al’Vere,” was all he said before he and Ho both vanished into the brush again without so much as the rustle of a leaf.

“They are very good,” Gaul muttered, still staring around suspiciously.

“A child could hide in this,” Chiad told him, slapping a redberry branch. But she watched the undergrowth as closely as Gaul did. None of the Aiel appeared eager to go on. Not reluctant, precisely, and certainly not afraid, but definitely not eager.

“Let’s go meet these Aes Sedai of yours,” Perrin told Marin gruffly.

The old sickhouse was even more ramshackle than Rand remembered, a sprawling single story that leaned drunkenly, half the rooms open to the sky, a forty-foot sourgum tree poking up from one. The forest closed in on every side. A thick net of vines and briars snaked up the walls, covered the remaining thatch with green; he thought they might be all that was holding the building up. The front door was cleared, though.

They followed Marin inside, where vine-shrouded windows admitted only a dim light. The front room was large and bare of furnishings, with dirt in the corners and a few cobwebs that had escaped an obviously hasty cleaning. Four blanket rolls were laid out on the floor, with saddles and saddlebags and neatly tied bundles against the wall, and a small kettle on the stone hearth gave off cooking smells despite the lack of any fire. A smaller kettle seemed to be water for tea, almost at the boil. Two Aes Sedai awaited them. Marin al’Vere curtsied hastily and launched into an anxious cascade of introductions and explanations.

Perrin rested his chin against his bow and studied the two sisters. Rand leaned against the doorjamb unobtrusively and did the same. He hadn’t needed Moiraine’s advice to know to avoid drawing these Aes Sedai’s attention. He’d be happy to live and die without ever getting any attention from any Aes Sedai at all.

It took him a moment to realise that he’d seen both of the Aes Sedai before. They’d been among the Amyrlin Seat’s entourage at Fal Dara, when she had come to tell Rand that he was the Dragon Reborn. One was a dark, slender woman in a deep green silk riding dress, quite beautiful, with long black hair and penetrating brown eyes. Those eyes sought Perrin—and him, too—while she listened to Marin. The other was attractive as well, with a colouring that contrasted against the first’s. Big blue eyes and long yellow hair went well with her blue silk dress and its golden embroidery.

His ears perked up when Marin said, still apprehensive, “You were asking about them, Alanna Sedai. Rand and Perrin, I mean. All three boys. It seemed the easiest way to keep them from getting themselves killed was to bring them to you. There just wasn’t any time to ask first. Do say you under—” It was the woman in green to whom she spoke.

“It is quite all right, Mistress al’Vere,” the other sister interrupted. “You did exactly the correct thing. They are in the right hands, now.”

“Why, thank you, Maigan Sedai,” Marin said.  _ She means well _ , Rand told himself. It didn’t take away the queasy feeling in his stomach. That she would turn him over to the Aes Sedai “for his own good” felt far too much like a betrayal.  _ Saidin _ stilled pulsed within him to the beat of his heart. If they tried to channel at him he’d ...  _ What? They are still women, even if they are Aes Sedai. I can’t hurt women, it’s ... wrong _ . Maybe he could block them off from the Source like he had Elayne that time.

“It is all right as long as you do not do it again,” Alanna said firmly. “Unless ... You are alone?” she asked Perrin in a voice that required an answer, and right now. “Did the other one return as well? Or is he still safely in the Tower?”

“Why are you here?” he demanded right back.

“Perrin!” Marin said sharply. “Mind your manners! You may have picked up some rough ways out in the world, but you can just lose them again now that you are home.”

“And quickly,” Maigan added in a voice like ice. “If there’s one thing I can’t abide it is uppity males.”

“We will take care of him.” Alanna told Marin, who nodded acceptance. The Aes Sedai’s cool words seemed open to interpretation.

Rand revised his previous assessment; they were not attractive or beautiful, they were just good looking. His heart was racing for a reason he could not quite comprehend.  _ Saidin _ continued to pulse in him, faster and faster, demanding release. He wanted to release it, too. And feared to do so.

Maigan nodded towards Marin. “You had better go on back to the village. We don’t want anyone wondering why you are walking in the woods.”

The Mayor nodded. Pausing by Perrin, she put a hand on his arm. “You know you have my sympathy,” she said gently. “Just remember that getting yourself killed won’t help anything. Do what the Aes Sedai tell you.” He mumbled something noncommittal, but it seemed to satisfy her.

She paused by Rand, too, on her way out. There were unspoken words in her eyes, and more on his tongue. He left them there and instead whispered a taunt. “You know. You forgot to tell me it was the last time, earlier.”

Marin’s lips quirked. “Perhaps I’ve learnt to be more honest with myself,” she whispered back. With that she was gone, slipping out of the ruined house and back into the woods.

Moiraine had watched the exchange in silence, but now she stepped forward. Lan did not go with her, instead he came to stand near Rand. It was difficult to tell with the Warder, but he thought he saw a warning towards caution on that hard face. Hurin and the two armsmen stood near as well, watching Rand warily. They were very respectful of Aes Sedai, and could not help but have noticed that he was not. He wondered what they would do if a conflict broke out here.

Moiraine stood before the other two Aes Sedai and they exchanged glances, almost as though they were communicating silently, or in some language that he did not know.

“What brings you here, Sister?” the other Blue asked at last. “The Amyrlin assigned this task to us, not you.”

“The Amyrlin likes to stay informed of the goings on in the world, the better to guide its path,” Moiraine responded cryptically. He noticed she did not ask what task Maigan was speaking of. Did she already know? The thought annoyed Rand. What interest did the White Tower have in the Theren, and why would Moiraine hide it from him?

“You have such interesting followers, Moiraine. But why are they here and not in the White Tower?” Alanna asked. She almost sounded jealous.

“That is my business to know. I trust you will not interfere,” Moiraine said with a very direct look. Alanna tossed her hair back almost snippily but did not argue.

Perrin grew impatient with their talk. “You still haven’t answered my question, Alanna.”

“Perrin!” Zarine managed to copy Marin’s tone almost exactly, but he paid it no mind. Moiraine’s cool glance slid off him, too, though she did no more than glance, oddly.

“Why are you here?” Perrin persisted. “It seems awfully coincidental. Whitecloaks and Trollocs, and the two of you just happen to be here at the same time.”

Alanna refused to answer. She stood with her arms folded beneath her breasts, never taking her eyes off Perrin, their heat conflicting with the coolness of her face.

“It is simple enough, though I doubt you will understand it,” Maigan said. “Year by year we find fewer and fewer girls who can be taught to channel. Sheriam believes we may have spent the last three thousand years culling the ability out of humankind by Gentling every man who can channel we find. The proof of it, she says, is how very few men we do find. Why, even a hundred years ago the records say there were two or three a year, and five hundred years—”

Alanna harrumphed. “What else can we do, Maigan? Let them go insane? Follow the Whites’ mad plan?”

“I think not. Even if we could find women willing to bear children by Gentled men, there is no guarantee the children would be able to channel, or would be girls,” Maigan said, blinking. She seemed oddly surprised to find herself discussing the topic. “I heard Verin suggest that if they wanted to increase the stock, Aes Sedai should be the ones to have the children; the White Ajah themselves, in fact, since they put it forward in the first place. Alviarin was not amused.”

“She would not be,” Alanna laughed. The sudden flash of delight, breaking her fiery, dark-eyed stare, was startling. “I wish I could have seen her face.”

“Her expression was ... interesting,” the Blue sister said musingly. Whatever her reluctance, having begun giving an explanation of their presence, she was keen to continue. “Here in the Theren, where I suspect no Aes Sedai had visited in a thousand years you, Moiraine, found two women who could not only be taught to channel, but who had the ability born in them, and heard of another who had died because she could not teach herself.”

“Not to mention three  _ ta’veren _ ,” Alanna said, her eyes flickering over Rand and Perrin.

“Do you have any idea,” Maigan went on, “how many towns and villages we usually must visit to find three girls with the ability inborn? The only wonder is that it took us so long to come hunting more. The old blood is very strong here in the Theren. We were only in Watch Hill a week before the Children appeared, and were very careful not to reveal who we were to any but the Women’s Circle there, yet even so we found four girls who can be trained, and one child I think has the ability inborn. It was difficult to be sure. She is only twelve. None have anywhere near the potential of Nynaeve, but the number is still nothing less than remarkable. There might be another two or three just around Watch Hill. We have had no chance to examine girls here, or farther south. Taren Ferry was a disappointment, I must say. Too much interchange of bloodlines with the outside, I suppose.”

Rand pondered that in silence. What they were talking about sounded a lot like breeding livestock, mixing and matching lines to ensure the most desirable traits. It was very strange to him to hear people discussed in such a context but he supposed there was no reason that it shouldn’t be so. Did that mean that the ability to channel was carried in people’s bloodlines? Or could that just be something that the Aes Sedai thought was true, like the Heroes of the Horn following a Darkfriend who sounded the Horn of Valere? If it was true, then had his parents—not Tam and Kari, but whoever it was who had given him his blood—had those nameless mysteries been able to channel?

Perrin shifted his feet, stretching out his leg as though it pained him. “I don’t understand why you are hiding here. Whitecloaks arresting innocent people, and here you sit. Trollocs running all over the Theren apparently and here you sit.” Loial muttered under his breath, a muted rumble. Rand caught “angering Aes Sedai” and “hornet’s nest,” but Perrin continued to hammer at them. “Why aren’t you doing something? You’re Aes Sedai! Burn me, why aren’t you doing something?”

“Perrin!” Zarine hissed before turning an apologetic smile to Maigan and Alanna. “Please forgive him. Don’t be angry with him. He will do better.” She shot Perrin a sharp look, indicating she meant that for his ears as much as theirs, or more. Rand was glad to see him give her a piece of his glower as well.

Alanna waved Zarine to silence. “You certainly do not understand,” the Aes Sedai told Perrin in a tight voice. “You do not understand the restrictions under which we labour. The Three Oaths are not merely words. I brought two Warders with me to this place.” The Greens were the only Ajah to bond more than a single Warder apiece; a few, he had heard, even had three or four. “The Children caught Owein crossing an open field. I felt every arrow that struck him until he died. I felt him die. Had I been there, I could have defended him, and myself, with the Power. But I cannot use it for revenge. The Oaths do not permit it. The Children are very nearly as vile as men can be, short of Darkfriends, but they are not Darkfriends, and for that reason they are safe from the Power except in self-defence. Stretch that as far as we can, it will only stretch so far.”

“As for Trollocs,” Maigan added, “we have done for a number of them, and two Myrddraal, but there are limits. Halfmen can sense channelling, after a fashion. If we manage to draw a hundred Trollocs down on ourselves, there is very little we can do except run.”

Perrin scratched at his beard thoughtfully, and shifted his feet again.

Alanna noticed this time. “You are injured.” She came across to stand beside him and take his head in her hands, while Moiraine watched carefully. “Yes. I see. You did not do this to yourself shaving, it appears.”

“It was the Trollocs, Aes Sedai,” Bain said. “When we came out of the Ways in the mountains.” Chiad touched her arm, and she stopped.

“I locked the Waygate,” Loial added quickly. “No one will use it until it is opened from this side.”

“I thought that must be how they were coming,” Maigan murmured. “You did say they were using the Ways, Moiraine. Sooner or later that is going to present us with a real problem.”

“Yes. With access to the Ways, they can bypass the Borderlands entirely. It is a crucial issue,” Moiraine said. Uno scowled at something only he could see.

“The Ways,” Alanna said, still holding Perrin’s head. “ _ Ta’veren _ ! Young heroes!” She made the words sound approving and close to a curse, both together.

“I am not a hero,” Perrin told her stolidly. “The Ways were the fastest way to get here. That’s all.”

The Green sister went on as if he had not spoken. “I will never understand why the Amyrlin Seat let you and your shy friend here go your way,” the look she gave Rand was almost friendly then. He said nothing, and she continued as if that was only what she had expected. “Elaida has been having fits over you three, and she is not the only one, just the most vehement. With the seals weakening and the Last Battle coming, the last thing we need is two  _ ta’veren _ running about loose. I would have tied a string to each of you, even bonded you.” Perrin tried to pull back and Moiraine took a tight grip on her own skirts, but Alanna only smiled. “I am not so lost to custom yet as to bond a man against his will. Not quite yet.” He was not sure how far from it she was; the smile did not reach her eyes. She fingered the half-healed cut on Perrin’s cheek. “This has gone too long since it was done. Even Healing will leave a scar now.”

“I don’t need to be pretty,” he muttered and Zarine laughed aloud.

“Who told you that?” she said, sharing a smile with Alanna.

Perrin frowned but before he could say anything, the Healing hit him. He gasped loudly and stiffened in her grasp. Perrin spent some time catching his breath after the Aes Sedai released him. She left him doubled over and went to attend to the three Aiel and anyone else who had been nursing the wounds that Moiraine refused to Heal.

Zarine took Alanna’s place beside Perrin and stroked a finger across his cheek, along the scar beneath his eye. “A beauty mark,” she said, smiling slightly.

“A what?”

“Oh, just something Domani women do. It was just an idle comment.” Perrin scowled at her suspiciously. Chiad was testing her left arm, swinging it back and forth with a satisfied expression, when Alanna turned her attention Rand’s way.

He’d been happy to let Perrin and Moiraine do the talking, but he supposed it was too much to hope he’d escape the Aes Sedai pair’s scrutiny altogether. He suppressed his sigh as the Green smiled at him disarmingly, her teeth looking very white when contrasted against her dark, coppery skin. When she raised her hands as if to touch him, Rand raised his own in turn. “I am uninjured.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” Alanna said, reaching towards him.

Rand stepped away. “No.”

“Don’t be afraid, Rand. I won’t hurt you,” she said, still smiling.

“I’m not afraid. And I do not give you permission to touch me,” he said calmly.  _ Saidin _ still pulsed inside him, waiting.

Alanna blinked in surprise and her smile vanished. She looked sullen for a brief moment, before Aes Sedai composure snapped firmly back into place. The hot glare she gave him then dwarfed that which she’d been giving Perrin throughout his interrogation.

“In my experience it is best to conserve one’s strength when in unfriendly territory,” Moiraine said with a calm that matched Rand’s. He couldn’t tell if her words were meant for him or Alanna. “You never know when danger might rear its head.”

Alanna sniffed at Rand, but to his relief she turned and stalked away.

Ihvon slipped into the room, saw Alanna’s reaction and gave Rand a flat look, which Rand ignored. The Warder went to whisper in Alanna’s ear, and vanished outside again at her return whisper. He hardly made a sound even on the wooden floor. A few moments later the scrape of boots on the steps announced new arrivals.

Rand looked at the doorway, waiting calmly, but all his composure shattered and  _ saidin _ fled when his father stepped into the room.


	40. Father and Son

CHAPTER 37: Father and Son

Rand stared open-mouthed as Tam al’Thor and Abell Candwin appeared in the doorway, bows in hand, with the rumpled clothes and grey-flecked two-day beards of men who had been sleeping rough. They had been hunting; four rabbits hung at Tam’s belt, three at Abell’s. It was obvious they were expecting the Aes Sedai, and visitors, too, but they stared in amazement at Loial, more than half again as tall as either of them, with his tufted ears and broad snout of a nose. A flicker of recognition crossed Tam’s bluff, lined face at sight of the Aiel, and more than a flicker when he saw Lan, who still leant by the door, and Moiraine, who frowned as though she’d just been given bad news.

Tam’s gaze only rested thoughtfully on them for a moment, though, before coming to rest on Perrin with a start almost as big as for Loial. He was a sturdy, deep-chested man despite hair that was nearly all grey now, the sort it would take an earthquake to knock off his feet and more than that to fluster. “Perrin, lad!” he exclaimed. “Is Rand with you?”

“What about Mat?” Abell added eagerly. He had the look of an older, greying Mat, but with more serious eyes. A man not thickened much by age, with an agile step.

Perrin’s golden eyes looked to where Rand stood, off to the left of the entrance. Tam and Abell followed his gaze and Tam’s craggy face broke out in a broad smile.

“There you are, lad! What are you doing hiding over there?” he looked Rand over intently, his darks eyes seeming to take in everything, even the ring on his finger. “You’re looking well. Have you joined the Queen’s Guards or something? That almost looks like their uniform.”

Rand touched the red tails of his coat with a gauntleted hand, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “No, sir. It’s just a coincidence. I like the red and gold colour, and my, ah, Shienaran friends convinced me that wearing some armour would be prudent, given all the fighting we see.” Tam’s eyes flickered to Uno and Han, who flanked Rand as though guarding him. He saw his father add up the sum and knew an explanation would soon have to be made.

The scrutiny of the three Aes Sedai, never welcome, now seemed unbearable to Rand. Alanna appeared absorbed in rummaging through her saddlebags, but he was sure she was listening, and Moiraine and Maigan weren’t even bothering to hide it.

“Maybe it would have been better if you didn’t come,” Tam said more slowly, “what with the Trollocs. And the Whitecloaks ...” He shrugged. “You know the Trollocs returned?” Rand nodded. There was so much he wanted to say, but not here, not in front of the Aes Sedai. Tam glanced at Moiraine curiously. “Was she right then? Were they after you three lads, that Winternight? Did you ever find out why?”

Rand looked at Moiraine, too. Her face was a beautiful, expressionless mask now. She made no effort to chivvy him into silence. He supposed it was some small comfort that she trusted him to do that much right without her holding his hand. “Aes Sedai don’t tell you any more than they have to.”

“I have noticed,” Tam said dryly.

Alanna arched an icy eyebrow at Tam, and Maigan’s stare made Alanna seem warm. Abell shifted his feet as if he thought Tam was pushing his luck, but it would take more than a stare to upset Tam.

“Can we talk outside?” Rand asked his father. “I want a breath of air.”

Tam and Abell were agreeable, and perhaps as eager to escape the Aes Sedai’s scrutiny as he, but first there was the matter of the rabbits, all of which they handed over to Alanna.

“We meant to keep two for ourselves,” Abell said, “but it seems you have more mouths to feed.”

“There is no need for this.” The Green sister sounded as though she had said as much often before.

“We like to pay for what we get,” Tam told her, sounding the same. “The Aes Sedai were kind enough to do a little Healing for us,” he added to Rand, “and we want to stock up credit in case we need it again.”

Rand nodded uncomfortably, and suddenly recalled a promise he had made to Moiraine in exchange for another Healing, one that had saved Tam’s life. She had never called in the debt she claimed of him that day. Not yet at least. Her dark eyes seemed to be reading his mind but what she was thinking he could not guess. “An Aes Sedai’s gift always has a hook in it,” the old saying went. Well, he knew the truth of that. But it did not really matter whether you took the gift or paid for it; Aes Sedai managed to set the hook anyway.

“Should we stay here?” Hurin whispered, leaning close to Rand.

“No. We won’t be staying, whatever Marin wants,” he whispered back. “Tell Loial. Meet us back at the split oak.” The sniffer nodded his understanding.

As they started out, Perrin and Zarine moved to follow. Perrin shook his head at her, and amazingly she stopped in her tracks.

The four Theren men—if Rand still counted as such anyway—strolled off a way under the trees. The sun slanted westward, lengthening shadows. The older men made a few jokes about Perrin’s beard, but they never mentioned his eyes.

Responding to Abell’s query as to whether “that thing” was any good for straining soup, Perrin rubbed his beard and said mildly, “Zarine likes it.”

“Oh-ho,” Tam chuckled. “That’s the girl, is it? A spirited look to her, lad. She’ll have you lying awake nights trying to tell up from down.”

“Only one way to handle that sort,” Abell said, nodding. “Let her think she’s running things. That way, when it’s important, and you say different, by the time she gets over the shock of it, you’ll have matters arranged as you want, and it will be too late for her to badger you about changing it.”

Perrin frowned thoughtfully at that.

Rand glanced over his shoulder. The sickhouse was almost hidden by the trees. They had to be safe from the Aes Sedai’s ears. He looked at Perrin, whose senses were much more acute than his own, and found the wolfbrother already sniffing the air, head cocked as though listening to distant voices. Perrin noticed Rand’s look, and shook his head. No spies.

Rand let out a long breath. “It’s so good to see you again, father. I ... There were times I thought I never would. I’m sorry—” He cut off as Tam pulled him forcibly into a hug and slapped him on the back, hard enough that he felt it through the armour.

“Don’t be sorry about anything, lad. I’m just glad you’re safe.” Rand regretted his height then. He would have liked to have rested his head on his father’s shoulder, if only to make it easier to choke back the tears that threatened to fall, but he was far too big for that now. When they were standing up at least. He had to settle for hugging him back and blinking rapidly.

Abell turned away from the sight of the al’Thors’ reunion. “You didn’t say if Mat had come back with you,” he said to Perrin, in a voice rough with emotion.

Perrin shook his head. “He’s safe, or was when last I heard from someone who’d seen him. The Aes Sedai have been keeping him locked up in the White Tower. We’ve talked about getting him out, but weren’t able to come up with any plan to do it.”

“Locked up? In the Tower?” Abell said angrily.

“Not in a dungeon or anything like that,” Perrin hastened to add. “I’m told he spends a lot of time dicing, or training with the Warders. They just won’t let him leave the city.”

“Tam and I travelled all the way to Tar Valon last year, to the White Tower, trying to find out where you were,” Abell growled. “We could hardly unearth one to admit she knew your names, but it was plain they were hiding something. The Keeper of the Chronicles had us on a boat heading down-river, our pockets stuffed with gold and our heads full of vague assurances, almost before we could make our bows. Hustled us out of the city as quick as ... well, as a thief ditches the evidence. Aes Sedai!” His anger turned swiftly to worry. “I don’t like the idea the Tower may be using Mat some way.”

“Neither do I,” Rand muttered.

Perrin looked back towards the sickhouse. “Do you stay here? With Maigan and Alanna?”

“Hardly,” Abell replied. “How could a man sleep with Aes Sedai under the same roof? What there is of it.”

Tam leaned back, holding Rand by the shoulders and studying him intently. Though his eyes never left Rand, it was to Perrin that he spoke. “We thought this would be a good place to hide but they were here before us. I think those Warders might have killed both of us if Marin and some others of the Women’s Circle hadn’t been here then, too.”

Abell grimaced. “I think it was the Aes Sedai finding out who we were that stopped it. Who our sons were, I mean. They show too much interest in you boys to suit me.” He hesitated, fingering his bow. “That Alanna let slip that you’re  _ ta’veren _ . All three of you. I’ve heard Aes Sedai can’t lie.”

“I haven’t seen any signs of it in me,” Perrin said wryly. “Or Mat.”

Rand flinched, and with his hands still on him, Tam could not help but have noticed. Perrin’s omission of Rand’s name was as much as an accusation. Concern entered his father’s eyes, but he didn’t ask the obvious question. “Maybe you just don’t know what to look for,” he said stolidly. “How is it you come to be travelling with Shienarans, an Ogier and three Aiel?”

“The last peddler I saw said there were Aiel this side of the Spine of the World,” Abell put in, “but I didn’t believe him. Said he’d heard there were Aiel in Altara, of all places, or maybe Arafel. He wasn’t too certain of exactly where, but a long way from the Waste.”

Perrin left answering that to Rand, even when the silence stretched towards rudeness. “They are ... Some of them are our friends. Loial is for sure. That’s the Ogier’s name. The Aiel ... I don’t know what they want, really. They’ve been looking for someone.” We wished he hadn’t seen the way Tam’s eyes sharpened at that. He wished he didn’t know why they’d sharpened, too.

“Who?” Abell asked.

Rand lowered his eyes. “Even they don’t seem to know. They’re very strange.”

“The strangest,” Tam said quietly.

A silence descended on them, until at last Abell turned to Perrin and said, “Lad, about your family. I’ve sad news.”

“I know,” Perrin said quickly, and the hush fell again, with each staring at his own boots. Quiet was what was needed. A few moments to pull back from painful emotions and the embarrassment of having them plain on your face.

Wings fluttered, and Rand looked up to see a large raven alighting in an oak fifty paces away, beady black eyes sharp on the four men. Perrin’s hand darted for his quiver, but even as he drew fletchings to cheek, two arrows knocked the raven from its perch. Tam and Abell were already nocking anew, eyes scanning the trees and sky for more of the black birds. There was nothing.

Tam’s shot had taken the raven in the head, which was no surprise and no accident. No-one in the Theren could match Tam’s shooting.

“Filthy things,” Abell muttered, putting a foot on the bird to pull his arrow free. Cleaning the arrow point in the dirt, he returned it to his quiver. “They’re everywhere nowadays.”

“The Aes Sedai told us about them,” Tam said, “spying for the Fades, and we spread the word. The Women’s Circle did, too. Nobody paid much mind until they started attacking sheep, though, pecking out eyes, killing some. The clip will be bad enough this year without that. Not that it matters much, I suppose. Between Whitecloaks and Trollocs, I doubt we’ll see any merchants after our wool this year.”

“Some fool has gone crazy over it,” Abell added. “Maybe more than one. We’ve found all sorts of dead animals. Rabbits, deer, foxes, even a bear. Killed and left to rot. Most not even skinned. It’s a man, or men, not Trollocs; I found boot prints. A big man, but too small for a Trolloc. A shame and a waste.”

Perrin scuffed dirt and leaves over the dead raven with his boot. He looked lost in thought, though the Dark One’s use of carrion eaters as spies was something he’d learned of long ago.

“I heard about Bode and Eldrin, Master Cauthon,” Rand said grimly. “I’m of a mind to get them out of the Whitecloaks’ hands. How hard will it be to get them, and the others, free?”

“Hard,” Abell sighed, his face sagging. Suddenly he looked his age and more. “Powerful hard. I got close enough to see Natti after they took her, walking outside the tent where they’re holding everybody. I could see her—with a couple of hundred Whitecloaks between us. I got a little careless, and one of them put an arrow through me. If Tam hadn’t hauled me back here to the Aes Sedai ...”

“It’s a good-sized camp,” Tam said, “right under Watch Hill. Four or five hundred men. Patrols, day and night, with the heaviest concentration from Watch Hill down to Emond’s Field. If they spread out more, it would make things easier for us, but except for a hundred men or so at Taren Ferry, they’ve just about given the rest of the Theren over to the Trollocs. It’s bad down around Deven Ride, I hear. Another farm burned almost every night. The same between Watch Hill and the River Taren. Bringing Natti and the others out will be hard, and after, we’ll have to hope the Aes Sedai will let them stay here. That pair aren’t too pleased at anyone knowing where they are.”

“Surely someone will hide them,” Perrin protested. “You can’t tell me everyone’s turned their backs on you. They don’t really believe you’re Darkfriends?”

“No, not that,” Tam said, “except for a few fools. Plenty of folk will give us a meal, or a night in the barn, sometimes even a bed, but you have to understand they’re uneasy about helping people the Whitecloaks are chasing. It’s nothing to blame them for. Things are stone hard, and most are trying to look after their own families the best they can. Asking someone to take in Natti and the girls, Ailys and hers, and Haral and Alsbet besides ... Well, it might be asking too much.”

“I thought better of Theren folk than that,” Perrin muttered.

Abell managed a weak smile. “Most people feel caught between two millstones, Perrin. They’re just hoping they aren’t ground to flour between Whitecloaks and Trollocs.”

“They should stop hoping and do something.” For a moment Perrin looked abashed. But he was right, so far as Rand was concerned. As long as the people hid behind the Children of the Light, they would have to put up with whatever the Children wanted to do, whether taking books or arresting women and girls. “Tomorrow I’ll take a look at this Whitecloak camp. There has to be some way to free them. And once they are, we can turn our attention to Trollocs. A Warder once told me Trollocs call the Aiel Waste ‘the Dying Ground.’ I mean to make them give that name to the Theren.”

Rand raised an eyebrow and found himself staring at Perrin. He was usually such a quiet, deliberate man. That sort of talk was surprisingly forceful and proactive for him.

“Perrin,” Tam began, then stopped and sighed. “First we’ll see about Natti and the others. Then we can decide what to do about the Trollocs.”

“Don’t let it eat you inside, boy,” Abell said softly. “Hate can grow till it burns everything else out of you.”

“Nothing is eating me,” Perrin told them in a level voice, while running a thumb along the edge of his axe. “I just mean to do what needs doing.”

They proceeded through the woods in silence for a while after that, all four of them lost in thought. Rand compiled a mental list of all the things he had to confess and didn’t quite dare. One seemed easier than the others. “I broke your sword,” he told Tam. “I still have the hilt and scabbard, but the blade was wrecked. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about that, lad. It was just an old sword. I never even wanted the thing in the first place. I thought about throwing it away more times than I can tell you. If it helped keep you safe, even a little, then its loss was more than worth it.”

“It certainly helped to have it,” Rand said. It had sometimes drawn unwelcome attention, but he missed it now. Not because there was anything wrong with the sword he currently carried—it had been forged by a master smith in Falmerden, for the use of Syoman Surtir, their best general—but because his old sword had been Tam’s, and that had made it special to Rand.

“How’d you come to be riding with those Shienaran soldiers?” Tam asked. “It’s rare to see them south of the Borderlands. I’d never even seen one until Lord Agelmar led them to join the Grand Alliance.”

“Ah ... That’s ... a bit complicated,” Rand hedged.

“You know, it’s a pity the Aes Sedai got all those rabbits,” Perrin said suddenly. “I wouldn’t mind having some for supper. I think I spotted some signs on my way to the sickhouse, might be I’ll go see if I can’t catch one or two.”

Abell nodded thoughtfully. “I think I’ll join you, lad.” Neither of them looked at Tam or Rand as they veered off the path, but Rand had a feeling they had noticed his reluctance to talk in front of them and were giving he and his father some privacy. And for that he was grateful.

Tam watched them go, and then turned his shrewd eyes on Rand. “What troubles you?”

“What doesn’t?” Rand sighed. “So much has happened this past year. I don’t even know where to start. I don’t think,” he found himself rubbing a thumb along one of the brands on his palm. “I don’t think you’d like what ... I don’t know ...”

“There’s no need to rush, start at the beginning. When I woke up in the Winespring Inn after Winternight, I thought the attack on the farm had been just a fever dream, until Marin set me straight and told me about the notes you lads had left.” As Tam spoke, he steered Rand away from the path and deeper into the woods. “Now that was a tale to make a gleeman proud. What would Trollocs want with you boys? Or the Dark One, Light help us?”

“A madman’s tale,” Rand said morosely. Already Tam was getting close to the very thing Rand wanted least to tell him. But he’d have to tell him, wouldn’t he? How could he not? Especially when he would surely find out sooner or later.

“Aes Sedai are tricksome. They don’t lie, not right out, but the truth an Aes Sedai tells you is not always the truth you think it is. You take care around them.”

Rand ducked under a low branch. “I know. Believe me, I know.”

“Did it go bad? I heard about Egwene.” Tam patted him on the back. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. Was the Aes Sedai behind it?”

“No. All that Moiraine does she does to stop the Shadow, with never a care for who she has to sacrifice to reach that goal, but she didn’t cause Egwene’s death, not really.” Rand was a little surprised to find himself defending Moiraine but what he’d said was true, as he saw it. And he had to be fair, no matter how much she vexed him.

Tam turned sideways to shuffle through a gap in some bushes. “Remember to be wary. Aes Sedai do things for their own reasons, and those are not always the reasons you think. But if Trollocs are after you, you would be safer in Tar Valon than you could ever be here. That’s as true now as it was back then. I should have gone along with you, just the same. The world outside the Theren is nothing like Emond’s Field.”

“I’ve noticed. Did you know that men and women bathe together in Shienar? In these big public pools.” He barked a laugh. “That was awkward, let me tell you. It was the first time I ever saw Nynaeve sneak anywhere, while she was trying to make sure there was no-one else around so she could get a quick bath.”

Tam smiled. “I expect she had some colourful words for that. Why did you come back?”

“We heard about the troubles with the Whitecloaks and came to help. Only now I’m told the Whitecloaks aren’t the only problem.”

“No. It’s been a rough year,” Tam sighed, stopping in a small, grassy dell surrounded by rose bushes that had not yet begun to bloom. “Do you know about the house?”

Rand nodded grimly. “I stopped there on my way to Emond’s Field.”

“We’ll rebuild it. A little fire won’t stop Theren men.” Men, he said. Including Rand, despite his blood. Rand’s chin trembled a little as he tried to work up the nerve to ask about the war, and the mountain, and the woman a fever-addled Tam had once spoken of finding there. But before he could frame his questions, Tam spoke again. “That is, if you mean to stay ...”

“I can’t,” Rand said quietly. His father took a long time to respond.

“Those Shienarans ... they stuck as close to you as the Illianer Companions to their Queen. Does that have anything to do with why?” Rand was confused as to his meaning. Did he think Rand thought himself too good for the Theren now?  _ These damn clothes. I should have known people would think I’d gotten a big head, showing up dressed like this _ .

“No, that isn’t it. Not at all.” At a loss for what else to do, Rand went to his knees before his father and began unbuckling his belt.

Tam dropped his bow to the ground and his callused hands came to rest atop Rand’s, stilling them. “You don’t have to do that.”

Rand looked up at him. “It’s been a year since I left. You must have been frustrated ...”

“Sometimes ...” Tam confessed quietly. When Rand went to work on his belt again, he did not stop him. Rand lowered his father’s trousers far enough to allow him to reach a hand inside his underwear. Slowly and carefully he sought out his father’s manhood, and on finding it, brought it out into the dappled light of the springtime woods. Tam was still soft, but Rand knew how to change that.

He opened his mouth, put Tam inside and began sucking on him gently, winning an immediate sigh of pleasure and soon after the thrilling sensation of his father growing inside him. Tam’s cock began to swell, becoming steadily longer and thicker, pushing against Rand’s tongue, forcing him to widen his jaws. He could feel his father’s heartbeat through the hot, living meat that now pulsed in his mouth. Rand kept sucking until Tam had grown so stiff that the head of his cock poked against the back of Rand’s throat. He’d begun with Tam’s balls resting against his chin and ended in the same position, though the status of the other man had changed remarkably.

Rand had kept his eyes closed throughout the experience, the better to enjoy the proof of his father’s enjoyment. Now he opened them and stared up at Tam’s face.

His father smiled down at him and combed his fingers through Rand’s red hair. “My boy. So you haven’t changed completely.”

Rand smiled up at him around the hard cock in his mouth, then closed his eyes once more and began bobbing his head up and down Tam’s shaft. As he pleasured the older man, Rand hoped that they had gone far enough into the woods that no-one would happen by. They had almost never done this sort of thing when away from the farm. Tam had always been adamant that folk never find out about what passed between him and Rand. Rand, too, felt more than a little apprehension at the idea of anyone catching him kneeling there sucking on his father’s cock. None of that stopped him from rolling his tongue across every veined inch of Tam’s manhood though, or slowed the jerking movement of his head.

“Rand, I’m coming,” Tam gritted. He must have been frustrated indeed, because he didn’t usually make that announcement so quickly. Rand kept on sucking until he felt Tam’s cock twitch inside his mouth and something rush down its shaft. Hot, salty come flooded Rand’s mouth and he drank it down willingly, pleased with the pleasure he had given the man who had given him his life.

They stayed like that until the last drop of come had spilled from Tam’s cock, and even after. Rand suckled gently upon him while he slowly shrank back down to his previous state. Only then did he part his lips and let Tam go.

Tam sighed in satisfaction and went from his feet to his knees to his back, sprawling on the soft grass under the midday sun, breathing heavy. Rand lay down beside him and stared up at the clouds as they drifted across the blue sky.

“They remind me of your eyes. They always have. Yours and Kari’s,” Tam said.

There it was. Rand knew what he must say, but he still hesitated for a minute before saying it. “Did I get them from her? My eyes?”

Tam also hesitated before answering. “What makes you ask that?” he said at last, guardedly.

“After you were hurt, on Winternight, while I was taking you to Emond’s Field for treatment, you said some things. Fever talk, I thought. Maybe. But while I was away, some other people said some similar things and ... I wondered. Is there something you haven’t told me? About my birth?”

Tam let out a long sigh. “I’d hoped this day would never come. You and Kari sharing your colouring ... it was such a happy coincidence; enough that I didn’t think anyone would question your parentage. But your suspicions are justified, lad. She wasn’t your blood. And neither am I.”

Rand had already known it was so, with near-certainty, yet hearing Tam say it aloud still made his heart sink. “The woman you spoke of, the one who died on the mountain, she was real then.”

Another sigh. “Aye. One of their warriors, a Maiden of the Spear, like those two back at the sickhouse. I never knew her name, or what madness possessed her to be out in the midst of all that carnage while so heavily pregnant.” Tam turned his head to look at Rand, a grim foreboding written on his lined face. “It wasn’t me that killed her, lad. I promise you that. I always tried to avoid fighting their women during that war. But not everyone was as respectful of our ways. When I found you, her body was still warm, she couldn’t have passed more than moments before. There were bodies all around her, a dozen or so of her fellow Maidens, and maybe three times that many Valreio soldiers.” Awe entered Tam’s voice. “She’d fought them, even while pregnant and at least close to labour, if not already in it. There were stab wounds on her body, and blood on her spears, but everyone else lay cold and stiff while she had lived long enough to birth you, alone in the snow, amidst all that death and pain.”

Rand felt an awe to at least match Tam’s at hearing that story. He supposed he would never know the woman’s name but ...  _ That was my mother? My birth mother, anyway. Blood and ashes ... _

“I don’t know your father’s name either, lad. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful in that,” Tam finished stolidly.

When Rand looked his way, he found Tam staring at the clouds again, with a sad expression. He spoke with quiet conviction. “You’re my father. So far as I’m concerned anyway. You raised me, sheltered me, fed me ... loved me. I’d have died on that mountain if not for you, only a few minutes after being born. I owe you everything. You’ll always be my father. If you’ll still have me, that is.”

Tam grinned at him. “I will that,” he said, sounding relieved for some reason. His cock, which had been lying exposed but flaccid, began to twitch towards hardness once more.

Rand was surprised.  _ So soon? _ He bit his lip and murmured, “I guess you will ...”

“This doesn’t change things?” Tam asked, as though he’d thought it might.

“No. I love you,” Rand said simply.

While Tam smiled, he began working on removing his armour. Seeing that, Tam volunteered to help, and managed the various buckles and attachments with practiced ease. Rand could only assume they wore armour in the Illianer Companions, too. He shed his sword and his boots, tossed his fancy coat aside and sent his snowy white shirt to follow it. While he did that, Tam made a bed of their cloaks, there in the grassy dell. It was the only bed they had now, with their home burned to the ground, but so long as Tam was there, it would be home enough for Rand.

Tam shed his own, plainer clothes as well, revealing his stocky, still-muscular body. The hair across his deep chest had gone heavily to grey, but that on his stomach and arms and legs was still dark. The triangle of hair above his now-stiff cock was a mixture of brown and grey.

Rand pulled down his breeches and underwear at once, then stepped out of them and went to sit cross-legged on the makeshift bed. His father soon joined him there, kneeling down to kiss Rand’s lips before gently pushing him over onto his back. Tam’s lips followed Rand’s to the ground and he lay atop him, running his hands over his son’s smooth, pale flesh. The stubble on his chin rubbed against Rand in an unfamiliar, but not unpleasant, way.

He parted his legs and lifted them up to either side of Tam’s hips, ready for whatever his father wanted to do to him. Between Tam’s skilful kisses and the way his warm bulk pressed down on him, Rand soon found himself stiffening against his father’s belly.

Tam leaned back to smile down at Rand’s hard cock. He ran his callused hand along its length for a moment, but Rand knew he would do no more than that. He didn’t mind either; if anything he preferred it that way. When Tam took hold of the backs of Rand’s knees and spread him wider, Rand focused on relaxing his body to accept what was coming.

His father manoeuvred himself into place between Rand’s legs and soon Rand felt the thick head of his cock brushing against his back entrance. His body tingled in anticipation and that tingle became a rush of pleasure when the muscles of his father’s stomach bunched and he pushed slowly forwards, easing himself into Rand’s ass once more. He soon won past the tight outer ring and slid deeper into Rand’s body.

“Father,” Rand moaned. “I missed you so.”

“I missed you, too. My boy.” Tam said. He wrapped his arms around Rand’s neck and began kissing him again while slowly moving his hips, stroking his cock along the insides of Rand’s bottom.

They lost themselves in pleasure for a while. The sun shone gently down upon them, the air was fresh and scented with the blossoms of spring; it was cool enough that the heat of Tam’s body upon him did not feel at all uncomfortable to Rand in his nudity. Birds sang in the distance but no other alarming sounds disturbed the peace of the woods. Between all of that and the feel of his father’s manhood inside his body, Rand lost himself in bliss, forgetting for a time all the troubles that beset him. It couldn’t last, of course, and it was Tam himself who accidentally broke the spell he had woven.

“What did you do to persuade those Shienaran fellows to come back here with you?”

He spoke between rasping kisses, and the steady movement of his cock did not change, but Rand still felt compelled to answer.

“They swore fealty to me after Falme. They go everywhere with me now.”

That stopped the movement dead. Tam leaned back and gave Rand a surprised look. “Fealty? They wear the Black Hawk of Shienar on their surcoats; those are no wandering swordsmen, but trained and experienced soldiers. What happened?”

“There was war in Falmerden and we found ourselves in the middle of it,” Rand whispered, wishing his father would just kiss him again instead of asking the questions Rand so dreaded to answer. “We won. The invaders were driven back, and the things I did there inspired the lancers to switch their allegiance to me.”

“What did you do? Exactly,” said Tam thoughtfully. His hips began moving again.

“I rescued Elayne from the people who had enslaved her,” Rand told the man who was fucking him. “Then I killed the leader of the invaders. It was just blind luck though, not skill. He had a heron on his blade, like you. He could have killed me easily if he hadn’t gotten so over-confident.”

“Luck settles more fights than fools like to admit,” Tam rumbled. “A wet patch of grass is all it takes for a master swordsmen to die at the hands of a farmer armed with a pitchfork.”

Rand nodded at that. It sounded like wisdom to him.

“So that’s why they made you their lord,” Tam said as he rode him. “Good for you. I’m glad to see you coming up in the world. When they burned the farm I was worried for your future.”

Rand could have left it at that. He could have just savoured the moment. He should have just savoured the moment. But he spoke the hated words anyway. “We went there in the first place to recover the Horn of Valere. Padan Fain—who is a Darkfriend to the core—stole it from Fal Dara after we brought it there. It had been kept in the Eye of the Worlds since the Age of Legends. After we tracked him to Falme and took it back, we were forced to sound it, since it was that or die at the invaders’ hands. When the Heroes came to the Horn’s call, they acted as if they knew me. They called me by another name. They defeated the invaders, too, saving Falmerden. Fain escaped and vowed revenge. That’s why he’s here now. To punish me for not facing him. To hurt the three of us for ... something even I don’t understand.”

Rand measured his father’s reactions from the movement of his cock. The pauses, the suddenly increased tempo, the jerks of surprise. And finally, the slow freezing as a concerned frown creased his brow.

“Rand ... what name did those, those Heroes, you called them ... What name did they call you by?” he said reluctantly.

He squeezed his eyes closed in anticipation of pain. “They called me ... Lews Therin.”

Tam’s gasp of surprise seemed very loud in the private little dell that stood in for Rand’s lost home. “Lews Therin Telamon,” Tam breathed after a moment. He sounded horrified. “The Dragon. The Dragon Reborn ... Then that means ...” Rand’s nod was so small he wondered if Tam had even noticed it. He didn’t know what he expected in that moment. For his father to pull out of him and flee in disgust perhaps. Or to demand he leave the Theren and never return; that he should never have returned in the first place, as Rand had so often told himself. He didn’t expect Tam to wrap his strong arms around Rand’s shoulders and hug him to his breast. “Oh, my boy, my poor boy. Of all the things I feared for you, none were as bad as this.”

Rand put his arms around Tam and held on to him, but his grip was uncertain. “Father? You don’t hate me, or want me to go?”

“Of course not!” Tam scoffed. “Don’t be woolheaded, Rand. You’re a smart boy and I taught you better than that.”

“I-I can ... I can channel,” Rand confessed.

Tam began rocking him, his cock moving inside once more, but almost in a comforting way now. “I gathered that. I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do to help with that. And the rest ... Well, I’ll do all I can, but I’m just an old soldier.”

Rand kissed his weathered cheek, unashamed of the tears that leaked from his eyes. “You are much, much more than that,” he choked. His arms tightened around Tam’s shoulders, and he added his legs to that clinging embrace. “You are my daddy.” He rocked his hips, urging Tam to fuck him harder, and his father obliged. His breath came hot and heavy in Rand’s ear as his cock thrust in and out of Rand’s ass, going faster and faster. “Da,” Rand moaned between thrusts. “Da. Da. Daddy! Fuck me daddy!” Tam’s pace became frantic.

Rand’s cock was rock hard and trapped between their bodies. Their embrace was so close that every motion rubbed him against hot flesh. Between that and the stimulation Tam was giving his ass, Rand felt maddening close to climax. He couldn’t reach down to pleasure himself though, only hold on and enjoy Tam’s wild ride.

As it turned out, he did not need his hand. Rand arched his back under the intense pleasure, and he clutched Tam to his chest. “Father!” he groaned through gritted teeth, a heartbeat before his climax exploded, soaking both of their stomachs and chests with hot come.

Still holding him in his arms, Tam reared back far enough to smile down at the sight of his son lost in the throes of a powerful orgasm, just from being fucked by him. The furious motion of his hips lasted only a short time more, before he hilted in Rand and breathed out a long, satisfied breath, his stubbled jaw clenched almost painfully. “Rand. My poor, sweet boy,” he sighed as his seed spurted into Rand’s bowels. Rand took it all into him, and far from feeling dirtied, he felt as though some stain was being washed from his soul.


	41. Child of the Dark

CHAPTER 38: Child of the Dark

Geofram Bornhald held himself straight in his saddle as the hundred he had taken on patrol approached Watch Hill. Fewer than a hundred, now. Eleven saddles had cloak-wrapped bodies tied across them, and twenty-three more men nursed wounds. The Trollocs had laid a neat ambush; it might have succeeded against soldiers less well trained, less tough than the Children. What troubled him was that this was his third patrol to be attacked in force. Not a chance encounter, not happening on Trollocs killing and burning, but meeting a planned attack. And only patrols he led personally. The Trollocs tried to avoid the others. The fact presented worrisome questions, and the answers he came up with gave no solutions.

The sun was dropping. A few lights already appeared in the village that covered the hill from top to bottom with thatched roofs. The only tile roof stood at the crest, on the White Boar, the inn. Another evening he might have gone up there for a cup of wine, despite the nervous silence that closed in at the sight of a white cloak with a golden sunburst. He seldom drank, but he sometimes enjoyed being around people outside the Children; after a time they would forget his presence to some extent, and begin to laugh and talk among themselves again. On another evening. Tonight he wanted to be alone to think.

There was activity among the hundred or so colourful wagons gathered less than half a mile from the foot of the hill, men and women in even brighter hues than their wagons, examining horses and harness, loading things that had been lying about the camp for weeks. It seemed the Travelling People meant to live up to their name, probably at first light.

“Farran!” The thick-bodied hundredman heeled his horse closer, and Geofram nodded toward the  _ Tuatha’an _ caravan. “Inform the Seeker that if he wishes to move his people, they will move south.” His maps said there was no crossing of the Taren except at Taren Ferry, but he had begun learning how old they were as soon as he crossed the river. No one was leaving the Theren to perhaps seal his command into a trap as long as he could stop it. “And Farran? There is no need to use boots or fists, yes? Words will suffice. This Raen has ears.”

“By your command, Lord Bornhald.” The hundredman sounded only a little disappointed. Touching gauntleted fist to heart, he wheeled away toward the  _ Tuatha’an _ encampment. He would not like it, but he would obey. Despise the Travelling People as he might, he was a good soldier.

The sight of his own camp brought a moment of pride to Geofram, the long neat rows of wedge-roofed white tents, the picket lines for the horses precisely arrayed. Even here in this obscure corner of the world, the Children maintained themselves, never allowing discipline to slack.

The Theren was not quite the Light-forsaken place that Ordeith had painted it. The Trollocs proved that. If they burned farms, it meant that at least some of the folk here were pure. That alone put the lie to Ordeith’s claim that the entire region worshipped the Dark One. It was true that the people did not respect the Children as they might, but that was something Geofram had encountered all over Valgarda. It simply meant they needed to be shown the error of their ways, to his mind. The Theren folk bowed politely enough, and said “yes, my Lord,” “as you wish, my Lord,” and then stubbornly went their own way as soon as his back was turned.

The most troubling thing about them, other that their association with Perrin Aybara, was the fact that they were hiding an Aes Sedai. The second day south of the Taren they had killed a Warder; the man’s colour-shifting cloak had been sufficient proof. Geofram hated Aes Sedai, meddling with the One Power as if Breaking the World once was not enough. They would do it again if they were not stopped. His momentary good mood faded like spring snow.

His eye sought out the tents where the prisoners were kept, except for a brief exercise period each day, one group at a time. None would try running when it meant leaving the others behind. Not that running would get them more than a dozen paces—a guard stood at either side of the tents’ entrances, and a dozen paces in any direction took in another twenty Children—but he wanted as little trouble as possible. Trouble sparked trouble. If rough treatment was needed with the prisoners, it might raise resentment in the village to a point where something had to be done about it. Byar was a fool about that. He—and others, Farran especially—wanted to put the prisoners to the question. Geofram was not a Questioner, and he did not like to use their methods. Nor did he mean to let Farran anywhere near those girls, even if they were Darkfriends, as Ordeith claimed.

Geofram’s doubts about those claims had only grown since they moved deeper into the Theren. Even aside from the Trolloc attacks, there were his suspicions about what had happened on the Aybara farm. The need to apprehend the families of the three Darkfriends that the Lord Captain Commander had singled out had required Geofram to split his command. He had personally led the force that descended on Emond’s Field to take the Cauthon boy’s kin into custody, thinking the village would prove the more troublesome task. Byar he had sent to the al’Thor farm, and Ordeith had gone to arrest the Aybaras. Neither of their missions had gone as smoothly as Geofram’s. Byar reported that Tamlin al’Thor had ambushed his patrol and killed several of the Children with one of those huge bows these people used, before escaping into the woods, and Ordeith ... Ordeith claimed that Trollocs had already been to the Aybaras’ home and slaughtered them all. Geofram’s lips tightened once more at the memory of the skinny little man’s smile. If they were a family of Darkfriends then why would Trollocs kill them, Geofram had asked, his temper barely under control. Ordeith had shrugged and said that the Shadow’s creatures often fought among themselves. There was truth to that, but not enough to quell Geofram’s doubts. Even the testimony of those Children who had ridden with Ordeith, all of which confirmed the man’s claims, had not allayed his suspicions. He’d made certain that only his most trusted men were placed on guard duty around the remaining prisoners, and given strict orders that Ordeith was to be kept far away from them.

When he dismounted in front of his tent, Byar was there to meet him, stiff and gaunt as a scarecrow. Geofram glanced distastefully toward a much smaller collection of tents apart from the rest. The wind was from that direction, and he could smell the other camp. They did not keep their picket lines clean, or themselves. “Ordeith is back, it seems, yes?”

“Yes, my Lord Bornhald.” Byar stopped, and Geofram looked at him questioningly. “They report a skirmish with Trollocs to the south. Two dead. Six wounded, they claim.”

“And who are the dead?” Geofram asked quietly.

“Child Joelin and Child Gomanes, my Lord Bornhald.” Byar’s hollow-cheeked expression never changed.

Geofram drew off his steel-backed gauntlets slowly. The two he had sent off to accompany Ordeith, to see what he did on his forays south. Carefully, he did not raise his voice. “My compliments to Master Ordeith, Byar, and—No! No compliments. Tell him, in these words, that I will have his scrawny bones before me now. Tell him, Byar, and bring him if you must arrest him and those filthy wretches who disgrace the Children. Go.”

Geofram held his anger until he was inside his tent, flap lowered, then swept maps and writing case from his camp table with a snarl. Ordeith must think him an imbecile. Twice he had sent men with the fellow, and twice they had been the only deaths in “a skirmish with Trollocs” that left no wounded to show among the rest. Always to the south. The man was obsessed with Emond’s Field, and never mind that Watch Hill was a much better site if he had to move to Taren Ferry quickly.

For the thousandth time he wondered why the Lord Captain Commander had sent him here. The people seemed no different from those he had seen a hundred other places. Except that only the Taren Ferry folk showed any enthusiasm for rooting out their own Darkfriends. The rest stared with a sullen stubbornness when the Dragon’s Fang was scrawled on a door. A village always knew who its own undesirables were; they were always ready to cleanse themselves, with a little encouragement, and any Darkfriends were certain to be swept up with the others the people wanted gone. But not here. The black scrawl of a sharp fang on a door might as well be new whitewash for all of its real effect. And the Trollocs. Had Pedron Niall known the Trollocs would come when he wrote those orders? How could he have? But if not, why had he sent enough of the Children to put down a small rebellion? And why under the Light had the Lord Captain Commander burdened him with a murderous madman?

The tent flap swept aside, and Ordeith swaggered in. His fine gray coat was embroidered with silver, but stained heavily. His scrawny neck was dirty, too, jutting out of his collar and giving him the look of a turtle. “A good evening to you, my Lord Bornhald. A gracious good evening, and splendid.” The Murandy accent was heavy today.

“What happened to Child Joelin and Child Gomanes, Ordeith?”

“Such a terrible thing, my Lord. When we came on the Trollocs, Child Gomanes bravely—” Geofram struck him across the face with his gauntlet. Staggering backwards until he collided with Byar’s solid, unsmiling form, the bony man put a hand to his split lip, examined the red on his fingers. The smile on his face no longer mocked. It looked viperish. “Are you forgetting who signed my commission now, lordling? Pedron Niall will be hanging you with your mother’s guts if I say a word, after he has the both of you skinned alive.”

“I think that unlikely. Pedron Niall, for many years have I known. And even if it were, it would require you to be alive to speak this word, yes?”

Ordeith snarled, crouching like some wild thing, spittle bubbling. Slowly he shook himself, slowly straightened. “We must work together.” The Murandian accent was gone, replaced by a grander, more commanding tone. Geofram preferred the taunting Murandian voice to the slightly oily, barely veiled contempt in this one. “The Shadow lies all around us here. Not simply Trollocs and Myrddraal. They are the least of it. Three were spawned here, Darkfriends meant to shake the world, their breeding guided by the Dark One for a thousand years or more. Rand al’Thor. Mat Cauthon. Perrin Aybara. You know their names. In this place, forces are loosed that will harrow the world. Creatures of the Shadow walk the night, tainting men’s hearts, corrupting men’s dreams. Scourge this land. Scourge it, and they will come. Rand al’Thor. Mat Cauthon. Perrin Aybara.” He almost caressed the last name. “Scourge them.” There was a hint of madness in that grand voice, and sweat on Ordeith’s brow. “Flay them, and the three will come.”

“I will not condone the murder of Children,” Geofram said in a voice like iron. “Do you hear me? What is it you do that you need to hide from the Children?”

“Do you doubt the Shadow will do whatever is needed to stop me?”

“What?”

“Do you doubt it?” Ordeith leaned forward intently. “You saw the Grey Men.”

Geofram hesitated. Fifty of the Children around him, in the middle of Watch Hill, and no-one had noticed the pair with their daggers. He had looked right at them and not seen. Until Ordeith killed the pair. The scrawny little fellow had gained considerable standing with the men for that. Later Geofram had buried the daggers deep. Those blades had looked to be steel, but a touch seared like molten metal. The first earth thrown on them in the pit had hissed and steamed. “You believe they were after you?”

“Oh, yes, my Lord Bornhald. After me. Whatever it takes to stop me. The Shadow itself wants to stop me.”

“That still says nothing of murdered—”

“I must do what I do in secret.” It was a whisper, almost a hiss. “The Shadow can enter men’s minds to find me out, enter men’s thoughts and dreams. Would you like to die in a dream? It can happen.”

“You are ... mad.”

“Give me a free hand, and I will give you Perrin Aybara. That is what Pedron Niall’s orders require. A free hand for me, and I will place Perrin Aybara in yours.”

Geofram shook his head. “I do not want to look at you. Get out.” When Ordeith was gone, Geofram threw himself into his camp chair. What was the Lord Captain Commander up to with this man? Byar watched all in silence, waiting for Geofram’s word. He was sorely tempted to give it, too. For all his professed hatred of the Shadow, Ordeith was as vile as any Darkfriend Geofram had sent to the gallows in his long career.

* * *

The man who called himself Ordeith, even sometimes thought of himself as Ordeith, slunk through the tents of the Children of the Light, watching the white-cloaked men with a wary eye. Useful tools, ignorant tools, but not to be trusted. Especially not Bornhald; that one might have to be disposed of, if he became too troublesome. Byar would be much more easily handled. But not yet. There were other matters more important. Some of the soldiers nodded respectfully as he passed. He showed them his teeth in what they took for a friendly smile. Tools, and fools.

His eyes skittered hungrily across the tent holding the prisoners. They could wait. For a while yet. A little while longer. They were only tidbits anyway. Bait. He should have restrained himself at the Aybara farm, but Con had laughed in his face, and Joslyn Aybara had called him a filthy-minded little fool for naming her son Darkfriend. Well, they had learned, screaming, burning. Joslyn’s sneers had vanished quickly when he bent that chubby little one, Deselle, over the fence and lifted her skirt. Con had reached for a pitchfork, mirth forgotten, and the Children had done what they do. Ordeith had watched it all, and made the girl watch, too, sobbing and screaming as he fucked her virgin hole. He’d left her bent over the fence when he was done, his come leaking from her pussy and her blood leaking from the slash he’d put across her throat. In spite of himself, he giggled under his breath. Tidbits.

He could feel two of those he hated out there somewhere, south, toward Emond’s Field. Aybara or Cauthon? It did not matter. Rand al’Thor was the only really important one and he was here at last. Ordeith shivered with desire. The tales he’d spread along their journey to Taren Ferry, reports of the scouring of the Theren, had drifted to al’Thor’s ears and seared his brain, just as Ordeith hoped they would. First al’Thor, then the Tower, for what they had taken from him. He would have all that was his by right.

Everything had been ticking along like a fine clock, even with Bornhald impeding, until this new one appeared with his Grey Men. Ordeith scrubbed bony fingers through greasy hair. Why could not his dreams at least be his own? He was a puppet no longer, danced about by Myrddraal and Forsaken, by the Dark One himself. He pulled the strings now. They could not stop him, could not kill him.

“Nothing can kill me,” he muttered, scowling. “Not me. I have survived since the Trolloc Wars.” Well, a part of him had. He laughed shrilly, hearing madness in the cackle, knowing it, not caring.

A young Whitecloak officer frowned at him. This time there was nothing of a smile in Ordeith’s bared teeth, and the fuzzy-cheeked lad recoiled. Ordeith hurried on in a slinking shuffle.

Flies buzzed about his own tents, and sullen, suspicious eyes flinched away from his. The white cloaks were soiled here. But the swords were sharp, and obedience instant and unquestioning. Bornhald thought these men were still his. Pedron Niall believed it, too, believed Ordeith his tame creature. Fools.

Twitching aside his tent flap, Ordeith went in to examine his prisoner, stretched out between two pegs thick enough to hold a wagon team. Good steel chain quivered as he checked it, but he had calculated how much was needed, then doubled it. As well he had. One loop less, and those stout steel links would have broken.

With a sigh, he seated himself on the edge of his bed. The lamps were already lit, more than a dozen, leaving no shadow anywhere. The tent was as bright inside as noonday. “Have you thought over my proposal? Accept, and you walk free. Refuse ... I know how to hurt your sort. I can make you scream through endless dying. Forever dying, forever screaming.”

The chains hummed at a jerk; the stakes driven deep into the ground creaked. “Very well.” The Myrddraal’s voice was dried snakeskin crumbling. “I accept. Release me.”

Ordeith smiled. It thought him a fool. It would learn. They all would. “First, the matter of ... shall we say, agreements and accord?” As he talked, the Myrddraal began to sweat.


	42. Questions to Be Asked

CHAPTER 39: Questions to Be Asked

It was a sizable group that moved north through the woods of the Theren. They chose the woods mostly so as to avoid the Whitecloak patrols, but as Perrin rode with the vanguard he considered other ways their route might benefit them.

Rand had seemed happy enough to bring Loial and everyone else along—he only seemed concerned with ensuring Min and the girls were safe—but Perrin was concerned with the amount of attention such a large group would bring. So once they’d all met up with Anna and the rest at the split oak, he’d spoken to Loial himself.

“But I want to go,” the Ogier had protested when told he could not. “I want to help, Perrin.”

“You will stand out, Master Loial,” Abell said, and Tam added, “We need to avoid attracting any more attention than we must.” Loial’s ears drooped dejectedly.

Perrin drew him aside. Loial’s shaggy hair brushed the tree branches until Perrin motioned him to lean down. Perrin smiled, just jollying him along. He hoped Moiraine believed that. She and Lan had been the only Aes Sedai and Warder pair to return from the sickhouse.

“I want you to keep an eye on Maigan and Alanna,” he said in a near whisper. Loial gave a start, and he caught the Ogier’s sleeve, still smiling like a fool. “Grin, Loial. We are not talking about anything important, right?” The Ogier managed an uncertain smile. It would have to do. “Aes Sedai do what they do for their own reasons, Loial.” And that might be what you least expected, or not at all what you believed it was. “Who knows what they might take into their heads? I’ve had surprises enough since coming home, and I don’t want more added. I don’t expect you to stop her, only notice anything out of the ordinary.”

“Thank you for that,” Loial muttered wryly, ears jerking. “Do you not think it best to just let Aes Sedai do what they want?” That was easy for him to say; Aes Sedai could not channel inside an Ogier  _ stedding _ . Perrin just looked at him, and after a moment, the Ogier sighed. “I suppose not. Oh, very well. I can never say being around you is not ... interesting.” Straightening, he rubbed a thick finger under his nose and told the others, “I suppose I would draw eyes at that. Well, it will give me a chance to work on my notes. I have done nothing on my book in days. And at least Min will be here for company.”

The pack animals had to be left behind as well, of course. Packhorses would surely occasion comment, speaking of long travel; no one in the Theren travelled very far from home in the best of times. And they wouldn’t have need for much on this journey. Besides, he had lived out of a saddlebag often enough since leaving home. For that matter, he had lived out of his belt pouch and coat pockets.

He wished he could have made Zarine stay there—that was not the same as leaving her behind, just keeping her safe from Whitecloaks—but she got that stubborn set to her jaw and a dangerous light bloomed in her tilted eyes before he’d even approached her. “I look forward to seeing some of your country. My father raises sheep,” she’d said. Her tone was definite; she would not have stayed unless he tied her up.

For a moment he’d come close to considering it. But the danger from Whitecloaks should not be that great; he only intended to look, today. “I thought he was a merchant,” he’d said.

“He raises sheep, too.” Spots of crimson bloomed in her cheeks: maybe her father was a poor man and not a merchant at all. He didn’t know why she would pretend, but if that was what she wanted, he would not try to stop her. Embarrassed or not, however, she looked no less stubborn.

He’d remembered Master Cauthon’s method then. “I don’t know how much you’ll see. Some farms may be shearing, I suppose. Probably no different from what your father does. I’ll be glad of your company in any case.” The startlement on her face when she realized he was not going to argue was almost worth the worry of her coming along. Maybe Abell had something.

The man in question had taken a keen interest in the various horses as they rode north. Stepper got a nod of approval, as did Moonlight and Swallow, and Aldieb and Mandarb received looks of frank admiration. Master Cauthon watched the Shienaran lancers and their horses with interest—war-trained mounts were not much seen in these parts. He was as good a judge of horseflesh as there was in the Theren. No doubt he had chosen his and Master al’Thor’s rough-coated animals, not so tall as the other horses, but sturdy, with gaits that spoke of good speed and staying power. The only animal he looked askance at was Bela, and perhaps all the more so because Rand rode her now, seemingly oblivious to how odd it looked for someone so fancily dressed, and who the others deferred to as their lord, to ride such a nondescript animal.

Or perhaps he did notice, and simply didn’t care. Rand had been in a jolly mood since he and Tam returned from their private chat. Perrin wasn’t sure how much Rand had told his father, but he’d noticed the lack of surprise on Tam’s face when Geko greeted Rand with a formal salute and a “my Lord”.

The three Aiel glided ahead of the party, with long strides that carried them out of sight quickly in the woods. Now and then a flash of grey-and-brown was visible through the trees, probably on purpose, to let the others know they were there. Tam and Abell took the lead, bows across the tall pommels of their saddles, with Perrin, Faile and the Shienaran vanguard behind, then came Rand and Anna, Moiraine and Lan, surrounded by the main body of Shienarans, and finally Hurin, bringing up the rear.

Mostly they rode in silence except for the sounds of the forest, squirrels and woodpeckers and occasional birdsong. At one point Faile glanced back. “She will not harm you,” she said, her soft tone clashing with the fierce light in her dark eyes. At his questioning look she added a name. “Alanna.”

Perrin blinked. She meant to protect him. Against Aes Sedai. He was never going to understand her, or know what to expect next. She was about as confusing as the Aes Sedai sometimes.

Later Anna rode forward to join them. Or to join him at least. Zarine she fixed with a flat stare that she perhaps hoped would drive her away. It didn’t, and when Anna finally spoke it was with that gruff tone she often used when she was uncomfortable. “Rand told me about what happened to your family, Perrin. I’m really sorry. Are you alright?” After a tense paused she added, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Of course he isn’t alright,” Zarine said scornfully.

“I wasn’t talking to you!” Anna snapped.

The two women matched glares, and Perrin spoke into the brief silence, hoping to head off the squabble. “I just didn’t want to talk about it, Anna. I need ... not to think about it. Let’s just concentrate on saving who we can save.”

“Of course. But ... You know you can talk to me anytime, right?”

“I do. Thank you. You’ve always been a good friend.”

Zarine turned her attention to the forest ahead, but he saw the little smile that tugged at her lips. From the angry set of Anna’s jaw, he thought she had noticed it, too.

They broke out of the Westwood perhaps four or five miles north of Emond’s Field, with the sun standing its own height above the trees to the east. Scattered copses, mainly leatherleaf and pine and oak, lay between them and the nearest hedged fields of barley and oats, tabac and tall grass for hay. Strangely there was no one in sight, no smoke rising from the farmhouse chimneys beyond the fields. Perrin knew the people who lived there, the al’Loras in two of the big houses, the Barsteres in the others. Hardworking folk. If there had been anyone in those houses, they would have been at their labours long since. Gaul waved from the edge of a thicket, then vanished into the trees.

Perrin heeled Stepper up beside Tam and Abell. “Shouldn’t we stay under cover as long as we can? So many horses won’t go unnoticed.” They kept their mounts at a steady walk.

“Not many to notice us, lad,” Master al’Thor replied, “as long as we stay away from the North Road. Most farms have been abandoned, close by to the woods. Anyway, nobody travels alone these days, not far from their own doorstep. Ten people together wouldn’t be noticed twice nowadays, though mostly folk travel by wagon, if at all.”

“It’ll take us most of daylight to reach Watch Hill as it is,” Master Cauthon said, “without trying to cover the distance through the woods. Would be a little faster along the road, but more chance of meeting Whitecloaks, too. More chance somebody might turn us in for the rewards.”

Tam nodded. “But we have friends up this way, too. We figure to stop at the al’Seen farm to breathe the horses and stretch our legs. We will make it to Watch Hill while there’s still light enough to see.”

“There will be enough light,” Perrin said absently; there was always light enough for him. He twisted in his saddle to peer back at the farmhouses. Abandoned, but not burned, not ransacked that he could make out. Curtains hung at the windows still. Unbroken windows. Trollocs liked smashing things, and empty houses were an invitation. Weeds stood tall among the barley and oats, but the fields had not been trampled. “Have Trollocs attacked Emond’s Field itself?”

“No, they have not,” Master Cauthon said in a thankful tone. “They’d have no easy time if they did, mind. People learned to keep a sharp eye out Winternight before last. There’s a bow beside every door, and spears and the like. Besides, the Whitecloaks patrol down to Emond’s Field every few days. Much as I hate to admit it, they do keep the Trollocs back.”

Perrin shook his head. “Do you have any idea how many Trollocs there are?”

“One’s too many,” Abell grunted.

“Maybe two hundred,” Tam said. “Maybe more. Probably more.” Master Cauthon looked surprised. “Think on it, Abell. I don’t know how many the Whitecloaks have killed, but the Warders claim they and the Aes Sedai have finished off nearly fifty, and two Fades. It hasn’t lessened the number of burnings we hear about. I think it has to be more, but you figure it out for yourself.” The other man nodded unhappily.

“Then why haven’t they attacked Emond’s Field?” Perrin asked. “If two or three hundred came in the night, they could likely burn the whole village and be gone before the Whitecloaks up at Watch Hill even heard about it. Still easier for them to hit Deven Ride. You said the Whitecloaks don’t go down that far.”

“Luck,” Abell muttered, but he sounded troubled. “That’s what it is. We’ve been lucky. What else could it be? What are you getting at, boy?”

“What he’s getting at,” Zarine said, closing up beside them, “is that there must be a reason.” Swallow was enough taller than the Theren horses to let her look Tam and Abell in the eye, and she made it a firm look. “I have seen the aftermath of Trolloc raids in Saldaea. They despoil what they do not burn, kill or carry off people and farm animals, whoever and whatever is not protected. Entire villages have disappeared in bad years. They seek wherever is weakest, wherever they can kill the most. My father—” She bit it off, drew a deep breath, and went on. “Perrin has seen what you should have.” She flashed him a proud smile. “If the Trollocs have not attacked your villages, they have a reason.”

“I have thought of that,” Tam said quietly, “but I can’t think why. Until we know, luck is as good an answer as any.”

“Perhaps,” Moiraine said, joining them, “it is a lure.” Lan still hung back a little, cold eyes searching the country they rode through as relentlessly as any Aiel’s. The Warder was watching the sky, too; there was always the chance of a raven. Barely pausing, Moiraine’s gaze brushed across Perrin to the two older men. “News of continued trouble, news of Trollocs, will draw eyes to the Theren. Andor will surely send soldiers, and perhaps other lands as well, for Trollocs this far south. That is if the Children are allowing any news out, of course. I surmise Queen Morgase’s Guard would be little happier to find the Whitecloaks taking over her territory than they would to find Trollocs.”

“War,” Abell muttered. “What we have is bad enough, but you are talking war.”

Zarine put a comforting hand on Perrin’s arm, her eyes sad.

Master al’Thor only grunted; he had been in a war, so Perrin had heard, though not where or how, exactly. Just somewhere outside the Theren, where he had gone as a young man, returning years later with a wife and a child, Rand. Few Thereners ever left. Perrin doubted if any of them really knew what a war was, except by what they heard from peddlers, or merchants and their guards and wagon drivers. He knew, though. He had seen war, on Toman Head. Abell was right. What they had was bad enough, but it did not come near war.

He held his peace. Maybe Moiraine was right. And maybe she just wanted to stop them speculating. If Trollocs harrying the Theren were bait for a trap, it had to be a trap for Rand, one he’d now walked right into, and the Aes Sedai had to know it. That was one of the problems with Aes Sedai; they could hand you “if”s and “might”s until you were sure they had told you flat out what they had only suggested. Well, if the Trollocs—or whoever sent them, rather; one of the Forsaken, maybe?—thought to trap Rand, they would have to deal with them. What other choice was there?

They rode on silently through the morning. In this region farms were scattered, with sometimes a mile or more between. Every last one lay abandoned, fields choked with weeds, barn doors swinging in any errant breeze. Only one had been burned, and of that nothing stood except the chimneys, soot-black fingers rising from ashes. The people who had died there—Ayellins, cousins of those who lived in Emond’s Field—had been buried near the pear trees beyond the house. Those few who had been found. Abell had to be pressed to talk about it, and Tam would not. They seemed to think it would upset him. He knew what Trollocs ate. Anything that was meat. He stroked his axe absently until Zarine took his hand. For some reason she was the one who seemed disturbed. He had thought she knew more of Trollocs than that.

The Aiel managed to stay out of sight even between copses, except when they wanted to be seen. When Tam began angling eastward, Gaul and the two Maidens shifted with them.

As Master Cauthon had predicted, the al’Seen farm came in sight with the sun still shining. There was not another farm in view, though a few widely separated grey plumes of chimney smoke rose both north and east.  _ Why are they hanging on, isolated like this? _ If Trollocs came, their only hope was Whitecloaks chancing to be near at the same time.

While the rambling farmhouse was still small in the distance, Tam reined in and waved the Aiel to join them, suggesting they find a place to wait until the rest of them left the farm. “They won’t talk about Abell or me,” he said, “but you three will set tongues wagging with the best will in the world.” That was putting it mildly, with their odd clothes and their spears, and two of them women. A rabbit apiece dangled beside their quivers, though Perrin could not see how they had found time to hunt while keeping ahead of the horses. They seemed less tired than the horses, for that matter.

“Well enough,” Gaul said. “I will find a place to eat my own meal, and watch for your going.” He turned and loped away immediately. Bain and Chiad exchanged glances. After a moment Chiad shrugged, and they followed.

“Aren’t they together?” Mat’s father asked, scratching his head.

“It is a long story,” Perrin said. It was better than telling him Chiad and Gaul might decide to kill each other over a feud. He hoped the water oath held. He had to remember to ask Gaul what a water oath was. “What about the Shienarans?” They were only slightly less strange than the Aiel, to Theren eyes.

Tam looked at his son, still riding amidst a circle of steel-clad lancers. “They can stay. They could be passed off as merchant’s guards if it came to that.” Moiraine studied the grey-haired man in silence, her face giving away nothing of her thoughts.

The al’Seen farm was just about as big as farms went in the Theren, with three tall barns and five tabac curing sheds. The stone-walled cote, full of black-faced sheep, spread as wide as some pastures, and rail-fenced yards kept white-spotted milk cows separate from black beef cattle. Pigs grunted contentedly in their wallow, chickens wandered everywhere, and there were white geese on a good-sized pond.

The first odd thing Perrin noticed was the boys on the thatched roofs of the house and barns, eight or nine of them, with bows and quivers. They shouted down as soon as they saw the riders, and women hustled children inside before shading their eyes to see who was coming. Men gathered in the farmyard, some with bows, others with pitchforks and bushhooks held like weapons. Too many people. Far too many, even for a farm as big as this. He looked a question at Master al’Thor.

“Elisa took in her brother Wit’s people,” Tam explained, “because Wit’s wife’s farm was too close to the Westwood. And Adine Lewin’s people after their farm was attacked. Whitecloaks drove the Trollocs off before more than her barns were burned, but Adine decided it was time to go. Elisa is a good woman.”

As they rode into the farmyard, and Tam and Abell were recognized, men and women crowded around with smiles and a babble of welcome while they dismounted. Seeing that, children burst out of the house, followed by the women who had been minding them and others, fresh from the kitchen, wiping hands on aprons. Every generation was represented, from white-haired Astelle al’Seen, bent-backed but using her stick to thump people out of her way more than to walk with, down to a swaddled infant in the arms of a more than stout young woman with a bright smile.

Perrin looked past the stout, smiling woman; then his head whipped back. When he had left the Theren, Laila Cole had been a slim girl who could dance any three boys into the ground. Only the smile and the eyes were the same. He shivered. There had been a time when he had dreamed of marrying Laila, and she had returned the feeling somewhat. The truth was, she had held on to it longer than he had. Luckily, she was too entranced with her baby and the even wider fellow by her side to pay much attention to him. Perrin recognized the man with her, too. Natley Lewin. Odd. Nat never could dance. Thanking the Light for his escape, Perrin looked around for Zarine.

He found her idly flipping Swallow’s reins while the mare nuzzled her shoulder. She was too busy smiling admiringly at Wil al’Seen, a cousin from Deven Ride way, to notice her horse though, and Wil was smiling back. A good-looking boy, Wil. Well, he was a year older than Perrin, but too good-looking not to appear boyish. When Wil came up to Emond’s Field for dances, the girls all used to stare at him and sigh. Just the way Zarine was now. True, she was not sighing, but her smile was decidedly approving. It was worse than with Rand. At least Rand didn’t encourage it.

Perrin went over and put an arm around Zarine, resting his other hand on his axe. “How are you, Wil?” he asked, smiling for all he was worth. No point in letting Zarine think he was jealous. Not that he was.

“Fine, Perrin.” Wil’s eyes slid away from his and bounced off the axe, a sickly expression oozing over his face. “Just fine.” Avoiding looking at Zarine again, he hurried off to join the crowd.

Zarine looked up at Perrin, pursing her lips, then took his beard with one hand and gently shook his head. “Perrin, Perrin, Perrin,” she murmured softly.

He was not sure what she meant, but he thought it wiser not to ask. She looked as if she did not know herself whether she was angry or—could it possibly be amused? Best not to make her decide.

Wil was not the only one to look askance at his eyes, of course. It seemed that everyone, young or old, male or female, gave a start the first time they met his gaze. Old Mistress al’Seen poked him with her stick, and her dark old eyes widened in surprise when he grunted. Maybe she thought he was not real. Nobody said anything though.

Anna got a hug from Jillie Lewin, which she seemed surprised by, judging from her shy smile. She and Jillie’s little cousin Emry, who’d gotten shockingly busty for her age, stood aside, chatting animatedly. Perrin caught only a few words of their talk, such as “Caemlyn” and “Fal Dara”. Jillie’s much-older husband, Charl, was left to look after their kids.

Rand might have passed without comment, just one stranger among so many, if Dannil Lewin hadn’t gone for a closer look. When the lanky man recognised Rand, he jumped so high Perrin was almost afraid the wind would carry him off. “Rand!? Burn me, I almost didn’t recognise you!”

“Hey, Dannil. How’s things?” Rand said with an easy smile, the kind he hadn’t worn since they left the Theren so long ago.

“Not as well as for you! Did you strike it rich or something?”

Rand’s smile turned wry. “Or something.”

That prompted another round of greetings and exclaimings. Rand fielded their questions politely, but without giving out a straight answer to any query more serious than how his health was.

Soon enough the horses had been led off to one of the barns, and everybody except the armsmen and the boys on the rooftops had crowded into the house, just about filling it. Adults lined the front room two deep, Lewins and al’Seens and Coles interspersed in no particular order or rank, children in their mothers’ arms or relegated to peering through the legs of grown-ups packing the doorways to peer in.

Strong tea and high-backed, rush-bottomed chairs were provided for the newcomers, though Moiraine and Zarine got embroidered cushions. There was considerable excitement over Moiraine, and Lan, and Zarine, who introduced herself as Faile. Murmurs filled the room like a gabble of geese, and everyone stared at those three as though they wore crowns, or might do tricks any moment. Strangers were always a curiosity in the Theren. Lan’s sword drew especial comment, in near whispers that Perrin heard easily. Swords were not common here, or had not been before the Whitecloaks came. Some thought Lan was a Whitecloak, others a lord. One boy little more than waist-high mentioned Warders before his elders laughed him down.

As soon as the guests were settled, Jac al’Seen planted himself in front of the wide stone fireplace, a stocky, square-shouldered man with less hair than Master al’Caar, and that just as grey. A clock ticked on the mantel behind his head between two large silver goblets, evidence of his family’s success. The babble quieted when he raised a hand, though his cousin twice over, Wit, a near twin except for no hair at all, and Flann Lewin, a gnarled, grey-headed beanpole, both shushed their own folk anyway.

“Lady Moiraine, Lady Faile,” Jac said, bowing awkwardly to each, “You are welcome here for as long as you wish. I have to caution you, though. You know the trouble we have in the countryside. Best for you if you go straightway to Emond’s Field, or Watch Hill, and stay there. They are too big to be troubled. I would advise you to leave the Theren altogether, but I understand the Children of the Light aren’t letting anyone cross the Taren. I don’t know why, but there it is.”

Elisa al’Seen smoothed her white apron and smiled gravely. Her hair had less grey than her husband’s, and her lined face was motherly. She had owned these lands ever since her mother Astelle’s wits had begun to wander. “Jac is right,” she said firmly. “You truly are welcome to stay here, but when you leave, you must go immediately to a village. Travelling about isn’t safe. Trollocs are not something two women should face with only a handful of men for protection.”

“I will think on it,” Zarine said calmly. “I thank you for your consideration.” She sipped her tea as unconcernedly as Moiraine. Zarine accepted a butter cookie from a young al’Seen girl, who curtsied and blushed furiously, all the while staring at Zarine in wide-eyed admiration.

Perrin grinned to himself. In her green riding silks, they all took Zarine for nobly born, and he had to admit she carried it off beautifully. When she wanted to. The girl might not have been so admiring had she seen her in one of her tempers, when her tongue could flay the hide off a wagon driver.

Mistress al’Seen turned to her husband, shaking her head; Zarine and Moiraine were not going to be convinced. Jac looked at Lan. “Can you convince them?”

“I go where she goes,” Lan replied. Sitting there with a teacup in his hand, the Warder still seemed on the point of drawing his sword.

Master al’Seen sighed and shifted his attention. “Perrin, most of us have met you one time or another, down to Emond’s Field. We know you, after a fashion. At least, we knew you before you ran off last year. We’ve heard some troubling things, but I suppose Tam and Abell wouldn’t be with you if they were true.”

Flann’s wife, Adine, a plump woman with a self-contented eye, sniffed sharply. “I’ve heard some things about Tam and Abell, too. And about Rand here, and young Mat, running off with Aes Sedai. With Aes Sedai! A dozen of them! You all remember how Emond’s Field was burned to the ground. The Light knows what they could have got up to. I heard tell they kidnapped the al’Vere girl, and the Aes Sedai killed her when she tried to escape.” Flann shook his head resignedly and gave Jac an apologetic look. Moiraine’s look would have frozen her blood, had Adine noticed it.

“If you believe that,” Wit said wryly, “you’ll believe anything. I talked to Marin al’Vere two weeks ago, and she said her girl went off on her own hook. And there was only one Aes Sedai.”

Adine’s sisters, Jina and Sandi, were among those gathered. For all that she’d been one of those to frown the most suspiciously at his eyes, stocky Jina still shook her head over her elder sister’s behaviour. Sandi rolled her eyes openly. She was a relatively young widow that Mat had often boasted of having relations with. Perrin couldn’t speak to the truth of that, but Sandi was still an attractive woman, slender and pretty despite the lines at the corners of her eyes.

“What are you suggesting, Adine?” Elisa al’Seen put her fists on her hips. “Come out with it.” There was more than a hint of “I dare you” in her voice.

“I didn’t say I believed it,” Adine protested stoutly, “just that I heard it. There are questions to be asked. The Children didn’t latch on to those three by pulling names out of a cap.”

“If you listen for a change,” Elisa said firmly, “you might hear an answer or two.” Adine set herself to rearranging her skirts, but though she muttered to herself, she held her tongue otherwise.

“Does anyone else have anything to say?” Jac asked with barely concealed impatience. When no-one spoke, he went on. “Perrin, Rand, no-one here believes you Darkfriends, any more than we believe Tam or Abell is.” He shot Adine a hard look, and Flann put a hand on his wife’s shoulder; she kept silent, but her lips writhed with what she did not say. Jac muttered to himself before continuing. “Even so, I think we have a right to hear why the Whitecloaks are saying what they are. They accuse you two and Mat Cauthon of being Darkfriends. Why?”

Zarine opened her mouth angrily, but Perrin waved her to silence. Her obedience surprised him so, he stared at her a moment before speaking. Maybe she was ill. “Whitecloaks don’t need much, Master al’Seen. If you don’t bow and scrape and walk wide of them, you must be a Darkfriend. If you don’t say what they want, think what they want, you must be a Darkfriend. Myself, I killed some of them.” For a wonder, the gasps that rounded the room did not make him cringe inside, and neither did the thought of what he had done. “They killed a friend of mine and would have killed me. I didn’t see my way clear to let them. That’s the short of it.”

Anna got that stubborn look on her face he knew so well. She was convinced that if the wolves hadn’t attacked the Whitecloaks they could have gotten by without any bloodshed at all. Perrin knew better. But whatever her misgivings, she held her silence in front of the others.

“I can see where you wouldn’t,” Jac said slowly. Even with Trollocs about, Thereners were not used to killing. Some years ago a woman had murdered her husband because she wanted another man to marry her; that was the last time anybody had died of violence in the Theren that Perrin knew. Until the Trollocs. “What about you, Rand?”

Rand stood by the doorway, much as he had back in the sickhouse, letting Perrin do the talking while he avoided any questions that might lead to talk of his channelling. He shrugged now. “We could hardly just stand by and let them kill Perrin, now could we?”

A few nods acknowledged that non-statement. Perrin’s guts chilled. He hadn’t lied, but what he’d implied was far from the truth. Rand had been off in Caemlyn when Perrin ran afoul of the Whitecloaks. He sounded disturbingly like an Aes Sedai at that moment.

“The Children of the Light,” Moiraine said, with a tiny smile on her lips, “are very good at one thing. Making people who have been neighbours all their lives suspicious of each other.” All the farm folk looked at her, some nodding after a moment.

“They have a man with them, I hear,” Perrin said. “Padan Fain. The peddler.”

“I’ve heard,” Jac said. “I hear he calls himself by some other name nowadays.”

Perrin nodded. “Ordeith. But Fain or Ordeith, he is a Darkfriend. He admitted as much, admitted to bringing the Trollocs on Winternight last year. And he rides with the Whitecloaks.”

“That’s very easy for you to claim,” Adine Lewin said sharply. “You can name anybody Darkfriend.”

“So who do you believe?” Hurin said. “Those who came a few weeks ago, arrested people you know, and burned their farms? Or your own folk?”

“I am no Darkfriend, Mistress al’Seen,” Perrin said, “but if you want me to go, I will.”

“No,” Elisa said quickly, shooting her husband a meaningful glance. And Adine a freezing one that made her swallow what she had been about to say. “No. You are welcome to stay here as long as you like.” Jac hesitated, then nodded agreement. She came over and looked down at Perrin, resting her hands on his shoulders. “You have our sympathy,” she said softly. “Your father was a good man. Your mother was my friend, and a fine woman. I know she’d want you stay with us, Perrin. The Children seldom come this way, and if they do, the boys on the roof will give us plenty of warning to get you into the attic. You will be safe here.”

She meant it. She actually meant it. And when Perrin looked at Master al’Seen, he nodded again. “Thank you,” Perrin said, his throat tight. “But I have ... things to do. Things I have to take care of.”

She sighed, patting him gently. “Of course. Just you be sure those things don’t get you ... hurt. Well, at least I can send you off with a full belly.”

There were not enough tables in the house to seat everyone for the midday meal, so bowls of lamb stew were handed out with chunks of crusty bread and admonitions not to drip, and everyone ate where they sat or stood. Before they were done eating, a lanky boy with his wrists sticking out of his sleeves and a bow taller than he was came bounding in. Perrin thought he was Win Lewin, Sandi’s only child, but he could not be sure; they grew fast at that age. “It’s Lord Luc,” the skinny boy exclaimed excitedly. “Lord Luc is coming.”


	43. Blood Calls Blood

CHAPTER 40: Blood Calls Blood

The lord himself followed almost on the boy’s heels, a tall, broad-shouldered man in his middle years, with a hard, angular face and dark reddish hair white-winged at the temples. There was an arrogant cast to his dark blue eyes, and he certainly looked every inch a nobleman, in a finely cut green coat discreetly embroidered in golden scrolls down the sleeves and gauntlets worked in thread-of-gold. Gold-work wrapped his sword scabbard, as well, and banded the tops of his polished boots. Somehow he made the simple act of striding in through the doorway grand. Perrin despised him on sight.

All the al’Seens and Lewins rushed in a mass to greet the lord, men, women and children crowding around him with smiles and bows and curtsies, babbling all over one another about the honour of his presence, the great honour of a visit from a Hunter for the Horn. They seemed most excited about that. A lord under the same roof might be exciting, but one of those sworn to search for the legendary Horn of Valere—that was the stuff of stories. Perrin did not think he had ever seen Theren folk fawn over anybody, but these came close.

This Lord Luc took it as clearly no more than his due, perhaps less. And tiresome to put up with at that. The farm folk did not seem to see, or maybe they just did not recognize that slightly weary expression, the slightly condescending smile. Maybe they simply thought that was how lords behaved. True enough, a good many did, but it irked Perrin to watch these people—his people—put up with it.

As the hubbub began to diminish, Jac and Elisa presented their other guests—all but Tam and Abell, who had already met him—to Lord Luc of Chiendelna, saying that he was advising them in ways to defend themselves against the Trollocs, that he encouraged them to stand up to the Whitecloaks, stand up for themselves. Approving murmurs of agreement came from the rest of the room. If the Theren had been choosing a king, Lord Luc would have had the al’Seens and Lewins behind him entire. He knew it, too. His apparent bored complacency did not last long, though.

At his first glimpse of Moiraine’s smooth-cheeked face, Luc stiffened slightly, eyes flickering to her hands so quickly many would not have noticed. He very nearly dropped his embroidered gloves. Clearly he knew an Aes Sedai’s ageless face, when he saw one. He was not particularly happy to see one here. He gave her a wary, fractional bow. He seemed uneasy about taking his eyes from her intent stare for the rest of the introductions.

His nostrils flared at the sight of Lan, almost as though he recognised him, though the recognition was not mutual. “House Chiendelna. That was a Malkieri House. And you are no Malkieri,” Lan said in a hard, cold voice.

His anger didn’t faze Luc at all. “Nothing so grand,” he replied quickly, “Murandy, actually. Names are not unique to any man, or family.” He showed Lan his shoulder, dismissing him out of hand as clearly as if he had shouted it. That was purely strange. However good Luc was with that sword, no one was good enough to dismiss a Warder, especially Lan. Arrogance. The fellow had enough for ten men. He proved it with Zarine so far as Perrin was concerned.

The smile Luc offered her was certainly more than self-assured; it was also familiar and decidedly warm. In fact, it was too admiring and too warm by half. He took her hand in both of his to bow over, and peered into her eyes as if trying to see through the back of her head. For an instant Perrin thought she was about to look over at him, but instead she returned the lord’s stare with a red-cheeked pretence to coolness and a slight bow of her head.

“I, too, am a Hunter for the Horn, my Lord,” she said, sounding a touch breathless. “Do you think to find it here?”

Luc blinked and released her hand. “Perhaps, my Lady. Who can say where the Horn might be?” Zarine looked a little surprised—maybe disappointed—at his sudden loss of interest.

Perrin kept his expression neutral. If she wanted to smile at Wil al’Seen and blush at fool lords she could. She could make an idiot of herself any way she wanted, gawking at every man who came along. So Luc wanted to know where the Horn of Valere was? It was hidden away in the White Tower, that was where. He was tempted to tell the man, just to make him grind his teeth in frustration.

A mere thiefcatcher like Hurin barely warranted a glance from the great Lord Luc apparently. He didn’t even deign to take offence when Hurin started furiously rubbing at his nose, as though he smelled something foul. He dismissed Anna, too, in her plain clothes and boyish hairstyle, giving her only that same condescending smile he’d given the al’Seens and Lewins.

Rand though, Rand apparently warranted Luc’s full attention. Perhaps it was because he was dressed in such a lordly fashion, but Luc stared at him as though he was a puzzle he couldn’t quite fathom. A small frown grew on Perrin’s brow as he looked back and forth between the two men. Perhaps it was just the similar colouring, but he thought they looked as though they might have been related. But then, he’d thought the same of Rand and all the Aiel he’d ever met. He shook his head and dismissed the notion. Growing up, Rand had been the only person he knew with light coloured eyes and red hair, but the world was a much more diverse place than Perrin had known back then. Someday he’d have to stop thinking every red-haired person he met was related to Rand in some way. His friend didn’t respond to the al’Seens’ introduction with anything more than a wary nod, one which Luc returned. He was slow to take his eyes away from Rand to greet the final newcomer.

If Luc had been surprised to find out who his other fellows in the al’Seen house were, his reaction to Perrin was peculiar to say the least. He gave a start at the sight of Perrin’s face; shock flashed in his eyes. It was all gone in a moment, masked behind lordly haughtiness, except for a wild fluttering at the corner of one eye. The trouble was, it made no sense. It was not his yellow eyes that took Luc aback; he was sure of that. More as if the fellow knew him, somehow, and was surprised to see him here, but he had never met this Luc before in his life. More than that, he would have bet that Luc was afraid of him. No sense at all.

“Lord Luc is the one who suggested the boys go up on the rooftops,” Jac said. “No Trolloc will get close without those lads giving warning.”

“How much warning?” Perrin said dryly. This was an example of the great Lord Luc’s advice? “Trollocs see like cats in the dark. They’ll be on top of you, kicking in the doors, before your boys raise a shout.”

“We do what we can,” Flann barked. “Stop trying to frighten us. There are children listening. Lord Luc at least offers helpful suggestions. He was at our place the day before the Trollocs came, seeing we had everybody placed properly. Blood and ashes! If not for him, the Trollocs would have killed us all.”

Luc did not seem to hear the praise offered him. He was watching Perrin cautiously while fussing with his gauntlets, tucking them behind the golden wolf’s-head buckle of his sword belt. Zarine was watching him, too, with a slight frown. He ignored her.

“I thought it was Whitecloaks saved you, Master Lewin. I thought a Whitecloak patrol arrived in the nick of time and drove the Trollocs off.”

“Well, they did.” Flann scrubbed a hand through his grey hair. “But Lord Luc ... If the Whitecloaks hadn’t come, we could have ... At least he doesn’t try to frighten us,” he muttered.

“So he doesn’t frighten you,” Perrin said. “Trollocs frighten me. And the Whitecloaks keep the Trollocs back for you. When they can.”

“You want to credit the Whitecloaks?” Luc fixed Perrin with a cold stare, as if pouncing on a weakness. “Who do you think is responsible for the Dragon’s Fang scribbled on people’s doors? Oh, their hands never hold charcoal, but they are behind it. They stalk into these good people’s homes, asking questions and demanding answers as if it were their own roof overhead. I say these people are their own masters, not dogs for the Whitecloaks to call to heel. Let them patrol the countryside—well and good—but meet them at the door and tell them whose land they are on. That is what I say. If you want to be a Whitecloak dog, be so, but do not begrudge these good people their freedom.”

Perrin met Luc’s eyes stare for stare. “I hold no affection for Whitecloaks. They want to hang me, or hadn’t you heard?”

The tall lord blinked as though he had not, or maybe had forgotten in his eagerness to spring. “Exactly what is it you do propose, then?”

Perrin turned his back on the man and went to stand in front of the fireplace. He did not mean to argue with Luc. Let everyone listen. They were certainly all looking at him. He would say what he thought and be done with it. “You have to depend on the Whitecloaks, have to hope they’ll keep the Trollocs down, hope they’ll come in time if the Trollocs attack. Why? Because every man tries to hang on to his farm, if he can, or to stay as close to it as possible if he can’t. You’re in a hundred little clusters, like grapes ripe for picking. As long as you are, as long as you have to pray the Whitecloaks can keep the Trollocs from stomping you into wine, you’ve no choice but to let them ask any questions they want, demand any answers they want. You have to stand by and watch innocent people hauled off. Or does anyone here think Haral Weyland and Alsbet Luhhan are Darkfriends? Natti Cauthon? Bodewhin and Eldrin?” Abell’s stare around the room dared anyone to hint at a yes, but there was no need. Even Adine Lewin’s attention was on Perrin. Luc frowned at him between studying the reactions of the people crowding the room.

“I know they shouldn’t have arrested Natti, Ailys, Alsbet and their folk,” Wit said, “but that’s over.” He rubbed a hand across his bald head, and gave Abell a troubled look. “Except for getting them to let everybody go, I mean. They haven’t arrested anyone since that I’ve heard.”

“You think that means it’s done?” Perrin said. “Do you really think they’ll be satisfied with the Cauthons, the Candwins and the Luhhans? With two farms burned? Which of you will be next? Maybe because you said the wrong thing, or just to make an example. It could be Whitecloaks putting a torch to this house instead of Trollocs. Or maybe it’ll be the Dragon’s Fang scrawled on your door some night. There are always folk who believe that kind of thing.” A number of eyes darted to Adine, who shifted her feet and hunched her shoulders. “Even if all it means is having to tug your forelock to every Whitecloak who comes along, do you want to live that way? Your children? You’re at the mercy of the Trollocs, the mercy of the Whitecloaks, and the mercy of anybody with a grudge. As long as one has a hold on you, all three do. You’re hiding in the cellar, hoping one rabid dog will protect you from another, hoping the rats don’t sneak out in the dark and bite you.”

Jac exchanged worried looks with Flann and Wit, with the other men in the room, then said slowly, “If you think we’re doing wrong, what is it you suggest?”

Perrin was not expecting the question—he had been sure they would get angry—but he went right on telling them what he thought. “Gather your people. Gather your sheep and your cows, your chickens, everything. Gather them up and take them where they might be safe. Go to Emond’s Field. Or Watch Hill, since it’s closer, though that will put you right under the Whitecloaks’ eyes. As long as it’s twenty people here and fifty there, you are game for Trolloc taking. If there are hundreds of you together, you have a chance, and one that doesn’t depend on bowing your necks for the Whitecloaks.” That brought the explosion he expected.

“Abandon my farm completely!” Elisa shouted right on top of Wit’s “You’re mad!” Words poured out on top of one another, from them, and from sisters, brothers and cousins.

“Go off to Emond’s Field? I’m too far away to do more than check the fields every day right now!”

“The weeds will take everything!”

“I don’t know how I’m going to harvest as it is!”

“... if the rains come ...!”

“... trying to rebuild ...!”

“... tabac will rot ...!”

“... have to leave the clip ...!”

Perrin’s fist smacking the lintel of the fireplace cut them short. “I haven’t seen a field trampled or fired, or a house or barn burned, unless there were people there. It’s people the Trollocs come for. And if they burn it anyway? A new crop can be planted. Stone and mortar and wood can be rebuilt. Can you rebuild that?” He pointed at Laila’s baby, and she clutched the child to her breast, glaring at him as though he had threatened the babe himself. The looks she gave her husband and goodmother were frightened, though. An uneasy murmur rose.

“Leave,” Elisa muttered, shaking her head. “I don’t know, Perrin.”

“It is your choice, Mistress al’Seen. The land will still be here when you come back. Trollocs can’t carry that off. Think whether the same can be said for your family.”

The murmur grew to a buzz. A number of women were confronting their husbands, mostly those with a child or two in tow. None of the men seemed to be arguing.

“An interesting plan,” Luc said, studying Perrin. From his face there was no telling whether he approved of it. “I shall watch to see how it turns out. And now, Mistress al’Seen, I must be on my way. I only stopped to see how you were doing.” Elisa and Jac saw him to the door, but the others were too busy with their own discussions to pay much attention. Luc left tight-mouthed. Perrin had the feeling his departures were usually as grand as his arrivals.

Rand had been watching Hurin carefully, but when Luc strode past him and out the door, he turned his attention to the lord. When Lan rose from his chair to follow Luc out, Rand pushed off from the wall and did the same.

Elisa came straight from the door to Perrin. “It’s a bold plan you have. I will admit I’m not keen on abandoning my farm, but you talk sense. I don’t know what the Children will make of it, though. They seem a suspicious lot, to me. They might think we’re all plotting something against them if we gather together.”

“Let them think it,” Perrin said. “A village full of people can take Luc’s advice and tell them to be about their business elsewhere. Or do you think it’s better to stay vulnerable just to hold the Whitecloaks’ goodwill, such as it is?”

“No. No, I see your point. You’ve convinced me. And everybody else, too, it seems.”

It did appear to be true. The murmur of discussion was dying down, but only because everyone looked to be in agreement. Even Adine, who was marshalling her daughters with loud orders for packing immediately. She actually gave Perrin a grudgingly approving nod.

“When do you mean to go?” Perrin asked Elisa.

“As soon as I can get everybody ready. We can make Jan Gaelin’s place on the North Road before sunset. I’ll tell Jan what you say, and everybody down to Emond’s Field. Better there than Watch Hill. If we mean to be out from under the Whitecloaks’ thumb as well as the Trollocs’, best not to sit under their noses. Perrin, I don’t think the Children would actually hurt Natti Cauthon and the girls, or Alsbet, but it worries me. If they do think we’re plotting, who’s to say?”

“I mean to get them free as soon as I can, Mistress al’Seen. And anybody else the Whitecloaks arrest, for that matter.”

“A bold plan,” Elisa repeated. “Well, I had better get people moving if I’m going to have us to Jan’s by sundown. Go with the Light, Perrin.”

“A very bold plan,” Moiraine said, coming up as Mistress al’Seen hurried off calling orders for wagons to be hauled out and people to pack what they could carry. She studied Perrin interestedly, but no less so than Zarine, at her side. Zarine looked as though she had never seen him before.

“I don’t know why everybody keeps calling it that,” he said. “A plan, I mean. That Luc was talking nonsense. Defying Whitecloaks in the door. Boys on the roof to watch for Trollocs. A couple of open gates to disaster. All I did was point it out. They should have been doing this from the start. That man ...” He stopped himself from saying Luc irritated him. Not with Zarine there. She might misunderstand.

Moiraine tapped her lips thoughtfully with one finger. “I wonder. Is it because Rand is so near, or did you do this yourself? If the former, then does it work for anyone who stays close to one? That could be quite useful. And if the latter, then perhaps I have been too focused on one. It might be a grave mistake to overlook the other two.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Perrin, when we arrived these people were ready to hold on here at all costs. You gave them good sense and strong emotion, but do you think the same from me would have shifted them, or from Tam, or Abell? Of any of us, you should know how stubborn Theren people can be. You have altered the course events would have followed in the Theren without you. With a few words spoken in ... irritation?  _ Ta’veren _ truly do pull other people’s lives into their own pattern.”

“Whatever it is,” Perrin muttered, “it’s to the good. The more people together in one place, the safer.”

“Watch yourself with Alanna, Perrin.”

“What?” The Aes Sedai’s quick changes of topic were beginning to confuse him. Especially when she started telling him to do what he had already thought of, and thought to keep secret from her. “Why?”

Moiraine’s face did not change, but her dark eyes were suddenly sharp. “There are many ... designs in the White Tower. Not all are malignant, by far, but sometimes it is difficult to say until it is too late. And even the most benevolent often allow for a few threads snapped in the weaving, a few reeds broken and discarded in making a basket. A  _ ta’veren _ would make a useful reed in any number of possible plans.”

Zarine shivered as the Blue sister moved away. “Sometimes Aes Sedai make me ... uneasy,” she murmured.

“Uneasy?” Perrin said. “Most of the time they scare me half to death.”

She laughed softly and began playing with a button on his coat, peering at it intently. “Perrin, I ... have ... been a fool.”

“What do you mean?” She glanced up at him—she was about to twist the button right off—and he hastily added, “You are one of the least foolish people I know.” He clamped his teeth shut before he could add “most of the time,” and was glad he had when she smiled.

“That is very nice of you to say, but I was.” She patted the coat button and began adjusting his coat—which it did not need—and smoothing his lapels—which they did not need. “You were so silly,” she said, speaking too fast, “just because that young man looked at me—really, he is much too boyish; not at all like you—that I thought I would make you jealous—just a little—by pretending— just pretending—to be attracted to Lord Luc. I should not have done it. Will you forgive me?”

He tried to sort through the jumbled words. It was good she thought Wil was boyish—if he tried to grow a beard it would probably be straggly—but she had not mentioned the way she returned Wil’s look. And if she had been pretending to be attracted to Luc, why had she blushed that way? “Of course I forgive you,” he said. A dangerous light appeared in her eyes. “I mean, there’s nothing to forgive.” If anything, the light sparkled hotter. What did she want him to say? “Will you forgive me? For when I was trying to chase you away. Will you forgive me that?”

“I will take it into consideration,” she said sweetly, and he knew he was in trouble.

Into consideration? She sounded very much the noblewoman there; maybe her father worked for some lord, so she could study the way ladies talked. He had no idea what she meant. Whenever he found out would be too soon, he was certain.

He found Rand outside, standing with his arms folded across his armoured chest, and surrounded by his armsmen. With his height and muscle, he could cut an imposing figure at times, and this was one of those times. It was not at all like Perrin. Lan stood beside him, almost as tall and even more imposing. They were both frowning after the red-haired man on horseback who was now shrinking into the distance.

“Odd fellow,” Rand muttered. “Who were these Chiendelnas you mentioned?”

He met Lan’s hard stare and did not blink, but when the Warder refused to answer he wisely chose not to pursue the matter. Instead he looked to Hurin.

“Did you smell something in there? And I don’t mean Mistress al’Seen’s cooking.”

Hurin shivered. “I smelled death. Coming from Lord Luc. He’s killed before. And not just once. It was strange though. The smell is usually constant, you know? Like you could almost get so used to it you forget it’s there. But with him it ... faded, and then came back, and then faded again. I can’t explain it, Lord Rand.” He sounded as troubled as Perrin could remember hearing him. A few of the al’Seens and Lewins, those close enough to overhear, gave Rand some surprised looks when they heard Hurin use the honorific, but he paid them no mind. He just frowned after Luc all the harder.

It was a relief to climb back into Stepper’s saddle amid the confusion of wagon teams being hitched and people arguing over what they could or could not take and children chasing down chickens and geese and tying their feet for loading. Boys were already driving the cattle eastward, and others herding the sheep out of the cote.

Zarine made no reference to what had been said inside. Indeed, she smiled at him, and compared the keeping of sheep here to in Saldaea, and when one of the girls brought her a bunch of small red flowers, heartsblush, she tried to thread some of them into his beard, laughing at his efforts to stop her. In short, she had him jumping out of his skin. He needed another talk with Master Cauthon.

“Go with the Light,” Master al’Seen told him just as they were ready to ride out, “and look after the boys.”

Four of the young men had decided to go with them, on rough-coated horses not nearly as good as those Tam and Abell rode. Perrin was not sure why he was the one who was supposed to look after them. They were all older than he, if not by much. Wil al’Seen was one, with his cousin Ban, one of Jac’s sons, who had gotten all the nose in that family, and a pair of the Lewins, Tell and Dannil, who looked so much like Flann that they could have been his sons instead of his nephews. Perrin had tried to talk them out of it, especially when they all made it plain that they wanted to help rescue the Cauthons, Candwins and Luhhans from the Whitecloaks. They seemed to think it was a matter of riding into the Children’s camp and demanding everybody’s return. Casting down our defiance, Tell called it, which nearly made Perrin’s hair stand on end. Too many gleeman’s tales. Too much listening to fools like Luc. He suspected that Wil had another reason, though he tried to pretend Zarine did not exist, but the others were bad enough.

No one else made any objections. Moiraine was having a quiet word with Lan, and whatever she was saying was something he didn’t much like hearing. Tam and Abell only seemed concerned that the lads all knew how to use the bows they carried and could stay on a horse. Rand watched them getting ready with a solemn look on his face. Perrin sensed a sad resolve in his friend, one that unnerved him for some reason. It wasn’t as unnerving as the way Zarine busied herself plaiting a crown from the heartsblush though, especially when it turned out to be for Perrin. Sighing, he draped the flowers across the pommel of his saddle. “I will take care of them the best I can, Master al’Seen,” he promised.

A mile from the al’Seen farm, he thought he might lose one or two right there, when Gaul and Bain and Chiad suddenly appeared out of a thicket, loping to join them. Lose them to Aiel spears. Wil and his friends took one look at the Aiel and hastily began nocking arrows; without breaking stride, the Aiel had spears ready to cast and their faces veiled. It took some minutes to straighten out. Gaul and the two Maidens seemed to think it a huge joke when they understood, laughing uproariously, and that unsettled the Lewins and al’Seens as much as finding out that the three were Aiel, and two of them women. Wil essayed a smile at Bain and Chiad, and they exchanged looks and brief nods. Perrin did not know what was going on there, but he decided to let it alone unless Wil looked to get his throat cut. Time enough to stop it if one of the Aiel women actually took her knife out.  _ Might teach Wil a thing or two about smiling _ .

He intended that they should push on to Watch Hill as quickly as they could, but a mile or so north of the al’Seen place he saw one of the farms that produced those scattered plumes of chimney smoke. Tam was keeping them far enough away that the people around the farmhouse were only shapes. Except to Perrin’s eyes; he could see children in the yard. And Elisa al’Seen was the nearest neighbour. Had been, until today. He hesitated, then reined Stepper toward the farm. Not that it was likely to do any good, but he had to try.

“What are you doing?” Tam asked, frowning.

“Giving them the same advice I gave Mistress al’Seen. It won’t take a minute.”

Tam nodded, and the others turned with him. Moiraine was studying Perrin thoughtfully. The Aiel peeled away short of the farm to wait to the north, Gaul running a little apart from the Maidens.

Perrin did not know these Torfinns nor they him, yet to his surprise, once the excitement of strangers was past, the staring at all the new faces, they listened and began hitching horses to two wagons and a pair of high-wheeled carts before he and the others rode on.

Three more times he stopped when their route took them near to farmhouses, once at a cluster of five close together. It was always the same. The people protested they could not just leave their farms, but each time he left behind a bustle of packing and a gathering of farm animals.

Something else happened, too. He could not stop Wil and his cousin, or the Lewins, from talking with the young men on the farms. Their party grew by thirteen, Torfinns and al’Dais, Ahans and Marwins, armed with bows and riding an ill-matched assortment of ponies and plough horses, all eager to rescue the prisoners from the Whitecloaks.

It was not as smooth as that, of course. Wil and the others from the al’Seen farm thought it unfair that he warned the newcomers about the Aiel, spoiling the fun they hoped to have seeing them jump. They jumped more than enough to suit Perrin, and the way they peered at every bush, much less every stand of trees, made it clear that they thought there must be more Aiel about no matter what he said. At first Wil tried lording it over the Torfinns and the rest on the grounds that he had been the first to join Perrin—one of the first, at least, he admitted when Ban and the Lewins glared at him—while they were latecomers.

Perrin put an end to it by dividing them into two groups of about the same size and putting Dannil and Ban each in charge of one, though there was some grumbling over that, too, in the beginning. The al’Dais thought the leaders should be chosen according to age—Bili al’Dai being the eldest by a year—while others put forward Hu Marwin as the best tracker, and Saml Torfinn as the best shot, while Bili Ahan had been to Watch Hill often before the Whitecloaks came and would know his way around the village. They all seemed to think it a lark. Tell’s phrase about casting defiance was repeated more than once.

Finally Perrin rounded on them in cold anger, forcing everyone to halt in the grass between two copses. “This is not a game, and it isn’t a Bel Tine dance. You do what you’re told, or else go back home. I don’t know what use you are anyway, and I’ve no intention of getting killed because you think you know what you are doing. Now line up and shut up. You sound like the Women’s Circle meeting in a wardrobe.”

They did it, stringing themselves out in two columns behind Ban and Dannil. Wil al’Seen and Bili al’Dai wore disgruntled frowns, but they held whatever objections they had. Zarine gave Perrin an approving nod, and so did Lan. Moiraine watched it all with a smooth, unreadable face, no doubt thinking she was seeing a  _ ta’veren _ at work.

At first he was surprised that none of the Theren men tried to approach Rand, but then he recalled how difficult he himself had been finding it to approach him lately, what with the circle of guards Rand was always surrounded by and ... other reasons. It must be even harder for those who did not know him so well, and who had not been with him while he became the person he now was. Later it occurred to him that Rand could have ended that awkwardness by making an effort to approach the lads himself. Wondering why he didn’t made a crease between Perrin’s brows.

Farms began to appear more frequently as they approached Watch Hill, coming in clumps closer together until they ran on continuously the way they did near Emond’s Field, a patchwork of hedged or stone-walled fields separated by narrow lanes, footways and wagon paths. Even with their pauses at the four farms, there was still some daylight left, still men working their crops, and boys driving sheep and cattle in from pasture for the night. No-one would be leaving their animals out these days.

Tam suggested Perrin cease warning people, and he reluctantly agreed. They would all head for Watch Hill here, alerting the Whitecloaks. So many people riding together by the back ways attracted enough eyes, though most people appeared too busy to do more than glance. It would have to be done sooner or later, though, and the sooner the better. So long as people remained in the countryside, needing Whitecloak protection, then the Whitecloaks had a foothold in the Theren they might not want to give up.

Perrin kept a sharp eye out for any sign of Whitecloak patrols, but except for one dust cloud over toward the North Road, heading south, he saw none. After a time, Tam suggested they dismount and lead their horses. Afoot there was less chance of being spotted, and the hedges and even the low stone walls shielded them a little.

Tam and Abell knew a thicket that gave a good view of the Whitecloak camp, a tangle of oak and sourgum and leatherleaf that covered three or four hides little more than a mile south and west of Watch Hill over an open stretch of ground. They entered from the south, hurrying. Perrin hoped no-one had seen them go in, no-one to wonder why they did not come out and comment on it.

“Stay here,” he told Wil and the other young men while they were tying their horses to branches. “Keep your bows handy, and be ready to run if you hear a shout. But don’t move unless you hear me shout. And if anybody makes any noise, I’ll pound his head like an anvil. We’re here to look, not pull the Whitecloaks down on us by tramping around like blind bulls.” Fingering their bows nervously, they nodded. Perhaps it was beginning to dawn on them just what they were doing. The Children of the Light might not take kindly to finding Theren folk riding about in an armed bunch.

“Were you ever a soldier?” Zarine asked quizzically in a low voice. “Some of my father’s ... guards talk that way.”

“I’m a blacksmith.” Perrin laughed. “I’ve just heard soldiers talk. It seems to work, though.” Even Wil and Bili were peering about uneasily and hardly daring to move.

Dannil kept his nerve better. Being a little used to the sight of Aiel by now, he didn’t even jump when a black-veiled man stepped into view from behind a sourgum. “Your friend’s back, Perrin,” he said.

Perrin’s hand drifted towards his axe. Aiel clothes were near-uniform and often made it hard to tell them apart when their faces were veiled like that, but ...  _ Why would Gaul veil now? _ he wondered, just before he noticed that the man confronting them had the wrong colour eyes. “That’s not Gaul!” he yelled.


	44. Shadows in the Night

CHAPTER 41: Shadows in the Night

Rand seized  _ saidin _ the moment Perrin called the alarm. His Shienarans closed in around him, or most of them did. Masema drew his sword and charged almost as soon as the words were out of Perrin’s mouth. The veiled Aiel before them was already balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to spring in any direction, but now he brought his spears to bear, ready to kill or to die, whichever came first.

“Masema! Stand where you are!” Rand shouted.

For a wonder, the man jerked to a halt as though seized by a rope of  _ saidin _ , though Rand hadn’t channelled so much as a thread. As crucial as it was to prevent Masema from forcing a conflict, even addressing him made Rand feel uncomfortable, and not just because of his disturbing zeal. Things had happened between them that Rand would have preferred to forget.

Masema did not look Rand’s way; he just stood staring at the Aiel ahead, his whole body quivering. But whether that was outrage at being spoken to so curtly by one he had hated, or simply eagerness to come to grips with his enemy, Rand could not say.

The Aiel’s cold blue eyes studied Masema for only a moment, then ignored him completely. He shifted his attention to Rand. “This is the one you spoke of, I assume.”

A woman’s muffled voice answered him, seemingly coming from the air itself. “He is.”

Rand didn’t like being stalked. And he wanted to know how many Aiel were surrounding him. “Are you enemies? Do you mean to attack us?” he challenged the man. “If not, speak your name and have your friends show themselves.”

“It is yet to be seen what we are to you, and what you may be to us,” the man said. “But we are not your enemies, today. This much I can swear to. I am Urien, of the Two Spires sept of the Reyn Aiel. I am  _ Aethan Dor _ . I see you.” He lowered his veil to reveal a handsome, tanned face, and let out a short, sharp whistle. At his signal perhaps a dozen more veiled figures appeared around them, stepping from within the thicket or rising up out of dips in the ground that Rand would have thought too shallow to hide anyone.

Perrin cursed softly under his breath. Rand thought Urien’s name sounded vaguely familiar, and recalled Perrin mentioning having met an Aiel before, back in Cairhien. He wondered if this was the same one. It was his father’s eyes that caught his attention though. They seemed sad, but accepting. They’d talked at length about this, and other things; before, during and after. Yet Tam did not step between Rand and Urien. Instead, he quietly eased himself back into the crowd of men gathered around his son, leaving him to face the Aiel as he would.

Rand returned Urien’s greeting with stiff politeness. “I am Rand al’Thor, from the Theren, where you now stand.”

“You are. A land filled with men and women whose hair and eyes are brown, a land where only one of your colouring exists. A land whose people have seen no sign of anything that might be related to my search.” There was a flat, cold condemnation in the Aiel’s voice, and his eyes were hard on Perrin.

There were mutters from the Watching Theren men, though over what Rand could not say. There had always been those who had felt he didn’t belong here, looking the way he did. Perhaps some of those were among the volunteers. Or perhaps they just didn’t like seeing Perrin challenged so. He was already well on his way to taking a leadership role among them. Rand didn’t begrudge him that in the slightest.

“I didn’t owe you any answers, Urien,” Perrin said stubbornly. “I still don’t.”

“Refusing to reveal what you knew would have been honourable. Lying was not,” the Aiel said disdainfully.

Zarine glared at him but it was Anna who spoke. “If I recall, it was Verin who did the talking back then. All we did was hold our silence.”

“You dance with words as a Wise One would,” Urien said irritably.

“What brings you to the Theren, Urien?” Rand asked, more to forestall the argument than out of genuine curiosity. He’d already gotten a good idea of what the Aiel wanted.

“I was sent to search for signs of He Who Comes With the Dawn. One possible sign was made known to me,” his eyes flickered towards one of the other Aiel, a woman. She was still veiled but even so she turned her head away from Rand as though concerned he might recognise her. He nodded slowly to himself. “I tracked it to this hold,” Urien continued, “and having searched it thoroughly I now judge the sign to be strong. Who are your parents?”

Rand set his jaw. “Tam al’Thor and Kari al’Thor. Anything beyond that is private.”

Urien accepted that with surprising equanimity. “We will be shadowing you from now on. Again I say, it is not our desire to dance the spears. What is your purpose here?”

“You assume you are welcome. That is rather bold of you,” Moiraine interrupted.

For the first time since he revealed himself, wariness entered Urien’s eyes. It was plain that he knew her for an Aes Sedai, and when he addressed her it was with a sudden formality, even going so far as to make an odd bow. “We have observed from distance, Aes Sedai. We will continue to do so.” One of the Aiel with Urien, a muscular man with a scarred face, was looking not at Moiraine but at Lan. Rand heard him whisper, “Aan’allein,” but did not know his meaning. Whatever it was, it brought him the Warder’s scrutiny.

Half of the Aiel with Urien were women, Maidens of the Spear, like the nameless woman who had birthed him on the very battlefield she died on. He’d been avoiding speaking to Gaul and the others but ...  _ You can’t run from your fate,  _ ta’veren _. The Pattern’s strings are tied too firmly _ . Besides, the Aiel were famed fighters, and there promised to be a lot of fighting to do here in the Theren.

“There are already three Aiel travelling with us,” Rand said with a small sigh. “I see no harm in you doing the same, provided you do no harm to me or mine. As to my purpose here, it is simple. The Theren is under threat, from both the Whitecloaks and the Trollocs. I wish to end those threats. Starting with freeing some friends who are being held prisoner.”

“I agree to your terms,” Urien said after only a brief consideration.

Some of the Shienarans muttered discontentedly over Rand’s decision but strangely Masema was not one of them. He returned his sword to his scabbard as soon as Urien agreed, though that didn’t stop him from staring murderously at the Aiel. He tried to share that baleful gaze with the women, too, but it was plain that doing so made him uncomfortable. Shienarans, like Theren folk, were raised to see that striking a woman, for any reason, was one of the greatest sins a man could commit.

Rand emerged from the circle of armoured lancers and strode off into the thicket. He tried to make it seem that he was unafraid of the nearby Aiel, and was surprised at how easily that deception came to him. Almost as though it was no deception at all. Some of the Aiel were huge. Urien was of a height with Rand, and another man standing not far from him matched them both, while being even heavier in the shoulder. The scar-faced fellow who’d spoken to or of Lan before was even bigger and taller. At least two of the women stood six foot or more, and a third, who was just a little shorter, had to be close to Perrin’s weight in muscle.

Moving from tree to tree, he and Perrin followed Tam and Abell to where Gaul and the two Maidens were already crouching near the thicket’s north edge. Gaul showed no surprise when he saw Urien striding along in Rand’s wake, and Perrin set his jaw. “You could have warned us, Gaul,” the wolfbrother grouched.

“When they made themselves known to me I saw no reason for alarm. The water oaths hold.”

While Perrin grumbled about water oaths, whatever those were, Rand went to get a look at their target. The brush made a thin screen of leaves, enough to hide them but no hindrance to observation.

The Whitecloak encampment stretched out at the foot of Watch Hill like a village itself. Hundreds of men, some armoured, moved among long, straight rows of white tents, with lines of horses, five deep, staked out to east and west. Animals being unsaddled and curried indicated patrols finishing their day, while a double column of maybe a hundred mounted men, pristine and precise, trailed off toward the Waterwood at a brisk walk, lances all at the same angle. At intervals around the encampment, white-cloaked guards marched up and down, lances shouldered like spears, burnished helmets flashing in the sinking sun.

A rumble came to Rand’s ears. Well to the west twenty horsemen appeared, galloping from the direction of Emond’s Field, hurrying toward the tents. From the direction he and the others had come.  _ A few minutes slower, and we would have been seen for sure _ , he thought. A horn sounded, and men began moving to the cook fires.

Off to one side lay a much smaller camp, its tents set haphazardly. Some sagged against their guy ropes. Whoever stayed there, most were gone now. Only a few horses flicking their tails against flies along a short picket rope indicated that anyone was there at all. Not Whitecloaks. The Children of the Light were too rigidly tidy for that camp.

Between the thicket and the two sets of tents was an expanse of grass and wildflowers. Very likely the local farmers used to use it for pasture. Not now, however. It was fairly flat ground. Whitecloaks galloping like that patrol could cover it in a minute.

Moiraine, Lan, Perrin and Uno joined them in surveying the area. Abell directed their attention to the large camp. “You see that tent near the middle, with a man standing watch at either end? Can you make it out?” They nodded. “That’s where Natti and the girls are. The Candwins are in the one next to it, and the Luhhans in the one beyond that. I’ve seen them come out and go in. One at a time, and always with a guard, even to the latrines.”

“We have tried to sneak in at night three times,” Tam said, “but they keep a tight watch over the perimeter of the camp. We barely got away the last time.”

It would be like trying to stick your hand into an anthill without being stung. Perrin sat down at the base of a tall leatherleaf with his bow across his knees. “I want to think on this awhile. Master al’Thor, will you settle Wil and that lot down? See none of them takes it into his head to run for home. Like as not they’d ride straight for the North Road, not thinking, and we’d have half a hundred of those Whitecloaks over here to investigate. If any of them thought to bring food, you could see they get something to eat. If we have to run, we may spend the rest of the night in the saddle.”

Abruptly a slight flush coloured Perrin’s cheeks, as though he’d just realized he was giving orders to men older than he was, but when he tried to apologize, Tam grinned and said, “Perrin, you took charge back at Elisa’s place. This isn’t the first time I’ve followed a younger man who could see what had to be done.”

“You are doing good, Perrin,” Abell said before the two older men slipped back into the trees. Perrin scratched his beard, a perplexed look on his face.

“Farmers,” snorted Uno.

Rand ignored the interplay, little as he liked the idea of Perrin telling his father what to do. Tam hardly needed Rand to stick up for him. He and Abell had likely tried to get past the guards without being noticed and without doing anyone an injury. That would have made things harder, even for woodsmen as skilled as they. Rand suspected the Aiel could get past those guards quite easily. The questions were if they would go at his request and if he could trust them not to hurt the prisoners. And not to kill the Whitecloaks he supposed, though if it came to a choice between them and Mat’s family he wouldn’t hesitate to rain lightning on the entire camp himself.

“It will suffice for now,” Moiraine said coolly, “but once we return to Emond’s Field I will expect your Mayor to take charge of matters, under my guidance, of course. This must be a short stay. Coming here at all was dangerous, and each moment we linger the Forsaken become more and more likely to arrive in pursuit. The Theren will not survive that. Be mindful of this, Perrin. And you as well, Rand.”

“Relax. I’m not planning to stay,” he said absently. Perrin didn’t respond.

He heard her moving away, her and Lan, slippers and boots alike soft on ground strewn with last year’s leaves.

“She will not leave you alone,” Zarine muttered. When Rand glanced at her, he saw that it was Perrin she addressed. The plaited crown of heartsblush Perrin had left on his saddle dangled from her hand. It troubled him a little to watch her pursue his friend in this way. Rand didn’t like Zarine, and thought Perrin could do much better. Perhaps he and Anna might still have a chance even. But Perrin was a grown man, and who was Rand to tell him who he could and could not get involved with?

“Aes Sedai never do,” Perrin told Zarine in response.

She turned on him with a challenging look. “I suppose you mean to try bringing them out tonight?”

Rand thought it best to do it now. Because Perrin had been passing his warning about, and folks knew who had told them. The Whitecloaks would learn about that soon enough. Perrin glanced at Gaul, who nodded.

“Tam al’Thor and Abell Cauthon move well for wetlanders, but these Whitecloaks are too stiff to see everything that moves in the dark, I think. I think they expect their enemies to come in numbers, and where they can be seen.”

Chiad turned amused grey eyes on the Aielman. “Do you mean to move like wind then, Stone Dog? It will be diverting to see a Stone Dog try to move lightly. When my spear-sister and I have rescued the prisoners, perhaps we will go back for you, if you are too old to find your own way.” Bain touched her arm, and she looked at the flame-haired woman in surprise. After a moment, she flushed slightly under her tan. Both women shifted their eyes to Zarine, who was still watching Perrin, her head up and her arms crossed now.

“Urien. If I asked your group to go into that camp and bring out three families worth of prisoners, preferably while killing as few of the Whitecloaks as possible, would you do it?” Rand asked calmly.

Urien and the two Aiel who flanked him had lowered the hoods of their  _ shoufa _ , revealing hair as red as Rand’s, though the scarred man he’d noticed earlier was moving heavily towards baldness. The woman proved to be exactly who he had expected it to be. Rhian still avoided Rand’s eye, seemingly trying to be a part of the meeting while pretending she was elsewhere. She was in her thirties, by Rand’s estimation, but looked fitter by far than most any of the younger women he’d known.

The three exchanged looks, before Urien spoke. “We will assist you in this, Rand al’Thor.”

Rand nodded. “Thank you. Uno, I’ll need Hurin, Rikimaru and Inukai as well. And ask Anna to lend a hand, there are three tents worth of prisoners and it would be best if there were as many familiar faces as possible in the rescue party.”

The grizzled Shienaran saluted smartly. “As you command, my Lord.”

A laughing Zarine had dropped down beside Perrin, snuggling her shoulder under his arm. “I will stay close to you.” She flipped the crown of red flowers onto his head, and Bain chuckled. Perrin scowled up at the flowers, but didn’t remove them.

Rand’s gaze flickered over Zarine’s fine silk riding dress. The decision came to him easily. “You won’t be coming with us.”

“Who was he speaking to?” Zarine asked Perrin after a quiet moment.

“You,” Rand answered before Perrin could. “Those skirts aren’t made for stalking, and I don’t trust your skills in that regard. You’ll have to wait with the others.”

“Strange. I can’t remember swearing fealty to anyone, but someone speaks to me as though I had,” Zarine told Perrin. She hadn’t looked at Rand throughout the exchanged. “How foolish of them.”

Rand shook his head irritably. “This isn’t a debate. If I have to have Areku hogtie you to make sure you don’t interfere, I will. Am I going to give that order, or are you going to stay?”

Zarine quivered, but whether in outrage or fear he could not say.

“I’ll have none of that talk, Rand!” growled Perrin, his arm tightening around her. “Don’t go thinking that just because you’re—that!—that you can go around threatening people. Especially her!”

Rand locked eyes with Perrin. “I’ll have my answer before we attempt the infiltration,” he said, grimly quiet.

Zarine sniffed, still not meeting Rand’s eyes. “If it will calm your nerves, I will stay and chat with the Aes Sedai. She has much of interest to say concerning the shortcomings of men, even those of the highest rank.”

Chiad laughed at that, and when she noticed Rand scowling at her she only laughed the harder. The rest of the Aiel seemed indifferent, but Perrin had a dark frown for Rand that persisted as the sun slid slowly towards the horizon. Rand spoke no more to him, sensing his mood. He’d have thought Perrin, proper Theren man that he was, would have been relieved to have Zarine kept away from danger, but for some reason he had proven anything but.

Abell brought some bread and cheese and reported that over half the would-be heroes Perrin had picked up had not brought anything to eat after all. They ate and waited. Rand paid a visit to the tethered horses, where Izana helped him shed his armour and change into the black and silver coat he’d had since Fal Dara. The mutters he heard from Dannil and the rest of the Theren youths as they watched him change almost made Rand cringe. Grim-faced, he donned his cloak and pulled up the hood. His bow and quiver he left behind, preferring just the sword for this.

Night came, lit by a moon already high but obscured by scurrying clouds. Still they waited. Lights vanished in the Whitecloak camp, and in Watch Hill, too, leaving a sprinkling of glowing windows across the otherwise dark mound, and Perrin gathered Tam, Anna and the others around him. Abell was back with the other Theren folk, keeping them quiet. Rand decided not to interfere, as a peace offering of sorts. He was surprised at how much it irritated him to hear Perrin giving orders to Tam and the rest of his people but he held his tongue.

Perrin kept his instructions simple. Tam was to have everyone ready to ride the moment they returned with the prisoners. The Whitecloaks would be after them as soon as they discovered what was up, so a place to hide was needed. Tam knew one, an empty farmhouse in the edge of the Westwood. Perrin would gather the Luhhans, Rand the Cauthons and Anna the Candwins.

“Try not to kill anybody, if you can manage it,” Perrin cautioned the Aiel. “The Whitecloaks will be hot enough at losing their prisoners. They’ll set the sun afire if they lose men, too.” Gaul and Urien nodded as if they looked forward to it. Strange people. They vanished into the night.

“Have a care,” Moiraine told Perrin softly as he slung his bow across his back. “ _ Ta’veren _ does not mean immortal.”

“Lan might be a help, you know.”

“Do you think one more would make a difference?” she said musingly. “Besides, I have other uses for him.”

Shaking his head, Perrin moved out from the thicket, going to elbows and knees, almost flat to the ground, as soon as he was beyond the brush. Rand adjusted his sword belt so the long hilt was out of the way, and then followed Perrin’s example. Inukai and Hurin flanked him, while Rikimaru crawled at Anna’s side. He was very good with a sword, and if they got into trouble Rand was glad he’d be close enough to protect her. The grass and wildflowers stood high enough to screen them as they crawled slowly across the open ground, stopping at Perrin’s signal about ten paces from where guards paced up and down, cloaks gleaming in the moonlight, a little way out from the first row of tents. There seemed to be fewer now than when he’d watched from the thicket. Rand wondered if that was because of the hour, or the Aiel. Two of the guards came face-to-face almost in front of them, stomping to a halt.

“All is well with the night,” one announced. “The Light illumine us, and protect us from the Shadow.”

“All is well with the night,” the other replied. “The Light illumine us, and protect us from the Shadow.”

Turning on their heels, they marched away, looking neither left nor right.

Perrin let each take a dozen paces, then rose. Almost tiptoeing, they hurried in among the tents, dropping low again as soon as they were past the first. Men snored inside, or muttered in their sleep. Except for that, the camp was silent. The tramp of the guards’ boots was plainly audible.

Perrin sniffed the air, then silently motioned for them to follow him. Tent ropes made snares for unwary feet in the darkness. They must have been clear to the wolfbrother’s eyes, though, for he wove a path through for them.

Rand had the location of the prisoners’ tents marked in his head, and they started toward it cautiously. Near the centre of the camp. A long way there, and a long way back.

The crunch of boots on the ground and a grunt from Anna spun them around just in time to see Rikimaru being rushed by a big shape in a white cloak, a man as thick as a tree trunk. In more ways than one. Instead of raising the alarm, he tried to grapple with the lithe Shienaran warrior. Rikimaru sidestepped smoothly, seized the man’s wrist and threw him to the ground. A pained grunt was all the sound the Whitecloak made before strong arms wrapped around his neck from behind and tightened into a stranglehold.

Rand left Rikimaru to it. He darted over to Anna and felt a flash of relief when he found her already getting to her feet.

“He didn’t think me worth worrying about, beyond knocking down,” she whispered. “Prick.”

Her fate decided the nameless Whitecloak’s, too. “Can you put him to sleep without killing him?” Rand asked Rikimaru. He’d heard Lan mention doing such things, but never learned it himself.

“He will not trouble us again tonight, but he will live, my Lord Dragon,” Rikimaru answered, keeping his voice as low as Rand’s.

When it was done, they dragged the unconscious man up against the side of a tent where he hoped no-one would find him soon. Perrin stripped off the fellow’s white cloak and bound his hands and feet with spare bowstrings. A kerchief found in the fellow’s pocket served for a gag. Lifting his bow over his head, Perrin settled the cloak around his shoulders. If anyone else saw them, maybe they would mistake him for one of their own.

He walked between the tents openly now, and quickly, while the rest of them scuttled along the path he blazed. Hidden or not, that fellow could be found any moment and the alarm raised. Shifting moonshadows obscured the spaces between the tents. Rand readied  _ saidin _ . He didn’t want to use it, especially not where anyone from the Theren might be close enough to see, but he would do what he had to.

Approaching the prison tents, Perrin slowed, so as not to excite the guards; two white-cloaked men stood to at either side of the entrance, and the gleaming lance points of several others rose above the tent’s peaked roof.

Suddenly the distant lance points vanished. There was no sound. They simply fell. The guards posted before the other tents were struck by shadows from out of the night.

A heartbeat later, two patches of darkness abruptly became veiled Aiel, neither tall enough to be men. Before the guards could move, one of them leaped into the air, kicking one in the face. He staggered to his knees, and the other Maiden spun, adding her own kick. The guard dropped bonelessly. Crouching, the Maidens looked around, spears ready, to see if they had roused anyone. Rand was momentarily surprised that the second guard hadn’t called out, but then the man pitched forward to reveal Gaul standing behind him, his hand held in an odd manner, straight and stiff with the closely-pressed fingers outstretching.

At the sight of Perrin in a white cloak, the two Maidens nearly went for him, until they saw Rand. One shook her head and whispered to the other, who appeared to laugh silently.

“Urien?” Rand said quietly, when they had drawn close.

Gaul gestured behind him. “In the night, clearing our path out.”

Rand exchanged looks with Perrin and Anna before they hastened off to their assigned tents.

Tossing the tent flap aside, he put his head into the interior, which was even darker than outside. Mistress Cauthon lay asleep across the tent’s entrance, with her daughters huddled together toward the back. Rand lightly put a hand over Natti’s mouth and felt the gasp of breath with which she woke. “Please don’t be alarmed, Mistress Cauthon, it’s just me, Rand al’Thor,” he said in a low voice. “My friends and I are here to get you out.” He felt her nod, and removed his hand.

“Is Mat with you,” she whispered urgently.

“No, he’s still in Tar Valon,” Rand answered. “But we can talk about that later, we need to be quick and quiet now.”

While she went to wake her daughters, Rand backed out of the tent and helped Hurin and Inukai strip the cloaks from the downed guards. The man the Maidens had kicked was still breathing—hoarsely, and bubbling through a thoroughly broken nose—but being manhandled did not wake him. They had to hurry now. Hurin practically danced with impatience.

He saw Mistress Luhhan and her husband emerge from the farthest tent with Perrin, all of them peering about nervously in the moonlight, Perrin hurriedly put one of the cloaks Gaul handed him around the blacksmith. It was a poor fit—Haral Weyland seemed to be made from tree trunks—but it would have to do. The other went around Alsbet Luhhan. She was not so large as her husband, but still as big as most men. Her round face looked surprised at first, but then she nodded; pulling the fallen guard’s conical helmet from his head, she stuck it on her own, squashing it down atop her thick braid. The two guards they bound and gagged with strips of blanket and laid inside the tent.

Soon after, Anna led the Candwins out of their tent. Abell’s sister Ailys was a slender woman, and her husband Eward, who was also Natti’s brother, was even stouter than Bran al’Caar. Their daughters took after them, with Darea being significantly plumper than her whiplash of a little sister, Imoen.

Rand heard the Cauthons emerge from the tent behind him. Bode and Eldrin were clinging to each other in shocked disbelief at rescue. Bode’s eyes looked even bigger than usual, when lit by the dim moonlight. He met her silent stare with one of his own. Only their mother’s soft murmurs kept the two girls from breaking into relieved tears already. The three parties came together in the dark. Nervous breathing was the only sound until Perrin whispered his intent to steal some of the Whitecloaks’ horses. That was how Moiraine and the others had done it when they freed Perrin from the Whitecloaks before, but Rand thought it an unnecessary risk now. He said as much, while peering futilely into the darkness.

“Urien? Can you hear me?” he whispered after a moment.

“I am here Rand al’Thor,” said a voice from nowhere.

He, Perrin and Anna were the only Thereners who did not jump at the sound. “Is the way back to the thicket cleared of guards?” Rand asked.

“It is. Much honour was gained this night,” the Aiel said, his satisfaction plain in his voice.

With the Aiel ghosting ahead, Rand followed Perrin and Anna with the Cauthons and Candwins at his side. Haral and Alsbet brought up the rear, with the three Shienarans. He hoped that, with all their stolen cloaks, they would, to a casual glance, look like just another Whitecloaks patrol.

“Who are those men, Rand? Where did you meet them?” asked Imoen excitedly before her mother shushed her.

“Later,” Rand whispered in response.

Their journey back proved as uneventful as Urien had promised. Tam had everyone mounted, as Perrin had asked. Or ordered. The Theren lads were all but jumping up and down in their saddles, while Moiraine, Lan and the Shienarans sat with the calmness of long experience. Lit torches, safely shielded from the Whitecloak camp by the thick brush, lit the excited faces of the Theren folk. Rand accepted Bela’s reins from Izana while Perrin and the others mounted their own horses. Abell was trying to hug his wife and daughters all three at the same time, all of them laughing and crying. Haral was trying to shake every hand he could reach. Ailys was weeping on her husband’s shoulder while Darea hid shyly behind them both. Her sister Imoen’s bright eyes darted from one strange face to another with avaricious curiosity.

“Why, Perrin, it  _ is _ you!” Mistress Luhhan exclaimed. Her round face looked peculiar under the helmet, sitting askew because of her braid. “What is that thing on your face, young man? I am more than grateful to you, but I will not have you at my table looking like a—”

“No time for that,” he told her, ignoring the shock on her face. She was not a woman people usually cut off, but Perrin had changed since the tragedy of his family’s deaths. “Tam, Abell, take Rand and the prisoners to that hiding place you know. Gaul, you go with them. And Zarine. Move quietly. Quiet is better than speed, for a little while anyway. But go now.”

Other than Gaul and, surprisingly, Zarine, no-one exactly leapt to obey. The rest of the Aiel ignored him entirely, and Uno scowled angrily, while the other Shienarans simply sat their horses, waiting for Rand’s word. Alsbet Luhhan gave Perrin a very level look. Rand took his time about mounting, partially to make plain he wasn’t doing it because Perrin told him to. He’d had enough of Moiraine’s games to know better than to let that example be set.

He spent the wait examining the familiar yet slightly changed faces of the Cauthon girls. Eldrin had gained a fresh collection of pimples and lost a bit of weight in the year since he’d last seen her. Imoen’s face had lost some of the roundness of childhood and she’d gotten a few pimples of her own. Her breasts were starting to develop, too, though they were so small that they would have been unnoticeable had she shared the heavier frames of her sister and cousins. Bode was as plump and buxom as he remembered but she’d gotten even prettier. Her big, brown eyes shone at him admiringly and Rand felt a smile spread slowly across his face as he looked at her.

The freed prisoners had to ride double, and that led to a bit of awkwardness. Mistress Luhhan got oddly prim at the idea of sharing a horse with one of the Shienaran soldiers, something which Nangu nodded approval over. The prissy armsman swung down from his saddle and delivered the reins of his horse to Alsbet with a small bow. Even so, it took Perrin and Haral both to get her into the saddle, and she kept trying to push her skirts down to cover her knees. Nangu doubled up with Izana instead. Haral proved more practical, and offered Han his thanks as he clambered up behind him. Rikimaru took Nangu’s example and gave his horse to Imoen’s parents before doubling up with Ayame. Eldrin sat behind Tam, Darea behind Zarine, Imoen behind Anna, and Bodewhin Cauthon approached Rand with a bold step and a shy smile.

He swung into the saddle, cleared his foot from the nearest stirrup and lent down to offer Bode his hand. The shyness left her smile as she took his hand. It proved easy to lift her; she wasn’t that heavy really, and like all the Cauthons was experienced with horses. Her foot found the stirrup easily, and she arranged herself behind Rand’s saddle with a cool lack of care for the way her bunched up skirt displayed her stocking legs. Bode wrapped her arms around Rand’s waist, laughing softly to herself.

Perrin was eyeing Moiraine sharply. “Any chance of a little help from you?”

“Not the way you mean, perhaps,” she replied calmly. “My reasons are no different today than yesterday. But I think it might rain in ... oh ... half an hour. Maybe less. Quite a downpour, I expect.”

Perrin grunted and turned to the Theren lads. Practically quivering with the desire to run, they held their bows in white-knuckled grips. Rand hoped they had all remembered to bring spare bowstrings, at least, since it was going to rain. He kept a dozen of his own in his saddlebags. “We,” Perrin told them, “are going to draw the Whitecloaks off so Mistress Luhhan and the rest can get away safely. We’ll take them south along the North Road until we can lose them in the rain. If anyone wants out, he had best ride now.” A few hands shifted on their reins, but they all sat their saddles looking at him. “All right, then. Shout like you’ve gone mad so they’ll hear us. Shout until we reach the road.”

Bellowing, he wheeled Stepper and galloped for the road. Rand watched them thunder off and wished them well. Enjoying the warmth of Bode’s body pressed against his back, and the way her breath tickled the hair at the nape of his neck, he turned his horse westward, and rode off at a more sedate pace.

* * *

At first Perrin was not really certain they would follow, but their wild howls drowned his roar and the thunder of their hooves. If the Whitecloaks did not hear that, they were deaf.

Not all of them stopped shouting when they reached the hard-packed dirt of the North Road and swung south at a dead run through the night. Some laughed and whooped. Perrin shrugged out of the white cloak and let it fall. Horns sounded behind, as the Whitecloak camp came alert.

“Perrin,” Wil called, leaning forward on the neck of his horse, “what do we do now? What do we do next?”

“We hunt Trollocs!” Perrin shouted over his shoulder. From the way the laughter redoubled, he did not think they believed him. Thunder in the night sky echoed the horses’ hooves.


	45. Taking Liberties

CHAPTER 42: Taking Liberties

The farm Tam and Abell led them to looked like it had already been abandoned when the Whitecloaks and the Trollocs came to the Theren. Some families simply died out over time. Rand had heard of such things happening when he was younger, but it was only when he left the Theren last year that he learned what a worldwide phenomenon it was. Fewer and fewer children had been born in recent generations and even the Aes Sedai couldn’t explain why. For his part, Rand suspected the weakening of the Seals on the Dark One’s prison had something to do with it.

Whatever family had owned these lands must have been afflicted particularly badly, for the farm was at least three times the size of the al’Thor lands. They must have been a sizable clan once. Now they were only a memory.

Rand was not particularly concerned with their safety, despite Perrin’s precautions. With a dozen battle-hardened Shienarans and just as many Aiel, he was sure they could handle any pursuers the Whitecloaks sent after them. And if they couldn’t, Moiraine and Lan were there. And should even they prove incapable of dealing with the problem, then Rand could take a hand himself. He’d gotten used to seizing and channelling  _ saidin _ now, and the more he used it the stronger he’d grown in the Power.

Some of the others didn’t share his confidence. Bodewhin had clung tightly to his back throughout the ride west, and her sister Eldrin had looked even more nervous as she rode behind Tam. Haral and Alsbet’s eyes had gotten nearly as wide as the Cauthon girls’ when they learned that the hooded strangers that ran alongside their horses were Aiel. The way they stared at the men and women—and those they stared at even harder than the men—reminded Rand of a deer he’d once seen being stalked by a wolfpack in the Westwood.

The former prisoners sat with Tam, Abell and Anna now, sharing stories. Rand wasn’t alarmed. He trusted Tam and Anna to know what should and shouldn’t be said. He didn’t join them though. Dancing around the truth was something he’d gotten used to, but somehow doing it with the Theren folk felt wrong. He’d rather say nothing at all than give them half-truths or outright lies. Instead, he wandered the camp and tried to make it seem like he was surveying their defences rather than avoiding his friends.

He’d anticipated conflict between the Shienarans and the Aiel but couldn’t find any sign of it in his wanderings, even now that the Aiel party had grown in size. Uno’s lancers seemed up for a fight, especially Masema, but the Aiel didn’t share their enmity. Or if they did, then they hid it well. The closest they came to a confrontation was when Rhian and Geko argued over the placement of sentries, with the Shienaran wanting to know where the Aiel guards would be stationed and the Aiel mocking him over his inability to find them unless she pointed them out. Rhian’s smile vanished when she noticed Rand watching. She excused herself and strode off quickly, as though she thought he might chase her. One of the other Maidens, a yellow-haired woman nearly as tall as he was, laughed to herself as soon as Rhian faded into the early morning gloom. It had taken most of the rest of the night for them to reach the farm, and Rand expected he’d end up sleeping during the day again.

Rand approached the Maiden who’d laughed. He thought she’d been one of those he’d encountered at Stedding Tsofu; she’d exchanged barbs with Anna, unless his memory failed him. She appraised him frankly as he approached. “For a woman who followed me home, Rhian seems really intent on avoiding me,” he said leadingly.

“Are you thinking of asking her to give up the spear? You will be disappointed I think,” the Maiden grinned.

Rand couldn’t deny that the idea of women fighting troubled him. They might get hurt. But he hadn’t been planning to ask them not to, despite what the Maiden thought. “No. I just thought it strange. Is my carrying a sword or dressing like this such a big deal?” He remembered them saying something along those lines back in the  _ stedding _ .

She stood hipshot and looked him over. “That depends on the person doing the looking. Like most things do, Rand al’Thor. Some would say you look ridiculous. Others might think you look cute.” Amusement danced in her blue eyes.

“Ah. I’m sorry to say you have me at a disadvantage. I don’t recall the name they called you by back in Stedding Tsofu.”

“I am Jec, of the Salt Flat sept of the Nakai Aiel. I am  _ Far Dareis Mai _ , in case that confuses you, too. As to Rhian, she would rather you had forgotten more of Stedding Tsofu than simply my name.” She laughed again. “Me, I think some people, even among my spearsisters, take life too seriously. How can you live if you can’t laugh at yourself?”

Rand considered that. She seemed to be saying that what had happened at Stedding Tsofu was a source of embarrassment for Rhian. Did she mean how the three Maidens had nearly attacked Rand and his companions? And if so was it because they had done it in a  _ stedding _ , or because it was Rand they’d attacked? The former was just good manners, but the latter begged the question of what the Aiel wanted from him.

“This person you’re looking for, the one with the long name. Who do you think he is, and what do you want with him?”

Jec’s smile disappeared. Her face became a hard, tanned mask. “That is not for me to say.”

Rand sighed softly. “Just once I’d like someone to give me a straight answer,” he muttered as he left the Maiden in his wake.

The abandoned farm had three houses in addition to the shells of its barns. Moiraine had claimed one of those houses for herself, one of the smaller ones. Zarine had claimed one of the rooms there, too. The women had retired already, but he could see Lan standing his tireless guard outside their door. Rand could almost have wished he had the Warder’s stamina, but not at the price he’d paid for it. Being bonded to an Aes Sedai struck him as a living nightmare. Just having Moiraine constantly lurking nearby, plotting her plots, was unnerving enough; having her inside your head would be enough to drive a man mad.

Yawning, Rand went to seek his bed. He’d have been happy enough to spread his blankets across the barn floor with his armsmens’ but Hurin stepped away from the door of another of the abandoned houses when he saw Rand walking by.

“There you are, Lord Rand,” the sniffer said with a friendly smile that woke the creases in his face. “The place hasn’t seen a human touch in a good while, but we got a fire going in the hearth and cleaned up the bed as best we could. It isn’t what you deserve, my Lord, but I hope it won’t disappoint you.”

“Hurin ...” Rand began exasperatedly. They’d been over this before, him and the sniffer. But after a moment’s pause, he just sighed. “I can’t imagine you ever disappointing. Thank you.”

Hurin embarrassed Rand by knuckling his forehead as Rand turned towards the door he’d vacated. He found himself missing Min. She never gave him any of that “my Lord” nonsense. Still, he couldn’t deny that part of him was pleased at the idea of sleeping in a real bed tonight—or today, as the case would soon be. The dark house was mostly empty, with only a few pieces of furniture left behind, and smelled of damp despite the fire’s best efforts to drive it out. Two of the few remaining chairs had been dragged over to the windows. Ragan and Ayame, seated in those chairs and keeping watch, greeted Rand when he stepped inside.

He poked his head into several rooms before he found the promised bed. It looked temptingly large and soft and as soon as he touched it he felt his eyes grow heavy. It took a surprising amount of self-discipline to make himself wash his face and teeth in the basin that had been prepared, before he stripped off and climbed into the bed. Sleep came easily, and his dreams were blessedly normal.

“Rand?”

“Hey. Are you asleep?”

“Rand.”

A soft voice tickled his awareness, tugging him back towards wakefulness.

“It was embarrassing enough coming in here, with those men lurking outside looking all knowing,” she muttered sulkily. “I’m not going back. Not so soon. They’d think you kicked me out.” Something touched his bare shoulder and shook him gently. “Hey, Rand. Wake up,” she said, a little more loudly.

“Who is that?” he asked sleepily. He stretched the kinks out of his shoulders. “What time is it?”

“It’s me, Bode. I ... I’ve c-come to visit,” she said with a nervous giggle. He blinked his eyes until her face came into focus. It was indeed Bodewhin Cauthon, her round cheeks reddened from embarrassment. Her thick, brown hair was loose of its braid, as though she’d just come from bath or bed. Or as though she was just on her way to one. Like his perhaps?

Rand sat up, his tiredness receding at a very fast pace. Bode’s eyes looked over his naked torso, and she bit her lip before looking away very deliberately. She sat on the side of his bed and smiled prettily before speaking again.

“You must have had a very interesting year, to get all that fancy stuff and have all those men following your orders. I’m jealous! Not much happened back here, not since Winternight anyway. Until the Whitecloaks showed up.” Her shudder did some very interesting things to the large breasts that hung behind her loose dress.

“It’s been pretty eventful,” Rand allowed. “But the Theren hasn’t gone without changes of its own, it seems to me. I feel almost a stranger now. Take you, for example. You’ve gotten even prettier.”

Bode grinned through her blush. “You really think so?” she encouraged.

Rand smiled. “I do. You’ve made strides from pretty girl to beautiful woman.”

She giggled again. “You know, you never properly thanked me for not telling on you, back then. The Women’s Circle would have a fit if they knew the kind of things you get up to behind closed doors, Rand al’Thor.”

“I have no doubt. But what the Women’s Circles doesn’t know doesn’t hurt anyone.”

Bodewhin Cauthon grinned at that, looking very like her brother all of a sudden. “That’s true,” she agreed readily.

“I was actually sore tempted to tell on you all. Egwene was always a bit full of herself, and the thought of what the Women’s Circle would have said if they knew got me well excited. Besides, any chance to get Mat in trouble is always worth taking.” That last she added as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Rand could only smile and shake his head; he’d never had any siblings, and the dynamics of such relationships eluded him. “Unfortunately,” Bode continued, “if I’d told on them I’d have gotten you and Perrin in trouble, too. And I didn’t want that.” She smiled at Rand, and her round face lit up prettily. “It would have been a shame for such a cute butt to get paddled.”

“Well, thanks for that then.”

“My mother’s on the Women’s Circle, but she’s asleep now, along with everyone else, off in the big house ...”

Rand would be the first to admit he didn’t know women as well as Mat or Perrin did, but even he could take that hint. “The Shienarans are my oath-sworn armsmen. They will do whatever I order them to. From fighting my enemies, to simple things, like never speaking of what they know.”

Her dark eyes shone. “Really? How did you get them to do that?”

“It’s a long story. And not half so interesting as what I’m imagining right now. Perhaps I could tell you later,” Rand said softly.

She bit her lip again. “Perhaps you could ...”

Bode’s face was very red as he leaned in to kiss her, but when his lips founds hers she responded with flattering, if unpractised, eagerness. Tingles brushed across Rand’s skin as he slowly caressed her soft lips with his own. He wrapped his arms around her generous hips and pulled her further onto the bed, the better to capture her mouth. She let herself be moved, content to wrap her own arms around his neck as she kissed him back.

Her hair felt soft as he combed it between his fingers, her skin even smoother when he brushed his hand across her cheek. When, after an indeterminate time, he dared to cup one heavy breast in his hand and give it a light squeeze, she broke their kiss with a loud gasp.

Bode stared at him for a long moment before turning away and pulling her skirt up far enough to undo the ties on her shoes. As she took them off and began unrolling her white stockings to reveal her smooth young legs, Rand felt a moment’s unease.

She was fifteen now, but her youth didn’t trouble him. He’d been younger the first time Marin had taken him. No, it was who her brother was that had him chewing his underlip as he watched her undress. Bode was Mat’s baby sister. What would his friend think if he found out Rand had taken his sister’s virginity? He tried to talk himself into stopping, but all thoughts of that fled when Bode undid the buttons of her dress and let it fall down over her shoulders, revealing her breasts to Rand’s eyes.

He gaped at the sight of her bosom. She had huge breasts, round and full. Her pink nipples were so wide they almost covered the ends of each fleshy globe. Whatever she saw on his face then must have pleased her, for Bode grinned at him. Her grin turned into an open-mouthed moan when his trembling hands reached out to squeeze those magnificent breasts. They were just as silkily soft as he’d hoped. He played with them eagerly, Mat a distant memory for now.

Bode let him enjoy the feel of her breasts in his hands for some time. The occasional moan escaped her lips and whenever his caress slowed she would push her chest towards him encouragingly. That she was obviously enjoying it as much as he was made Rand smile. He resolved to take his time with her, and never mind how hard he’d gotten under the covers. He wanted to make this an encounter to remember.

Her dress was bunched up around her waist, but it was still in the way. “Let’s rid you of this,” Rand murmured as he took Bode by the waist. She gulped but rose to her knees all the same, and let him pull the dress down over her wide hips. Under her big, hanging breasts were the fleshy folds of her belly, their rise and fall leading him down towards the earthy thatch of hair that rested between her thick thighs. Somehow seeing her naked like that made him think of the Theren. It might no longer be the home he had known, or perhaps he was simply no longer the boy that had called it home, but any change that led to this girl kneeling on his bed and looking at him with those big, smoky brown eyes couldn’t be a completely terrible thing.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, at the sight of her total nudity.

He got a bright smile as a reward. “So are you,” she tittered.

Rand took Bode in his arms, crushing her soft breasts against his hard chest, and kissed her hungrily. She melted into his embrace, and when he laid her on her back on the bed, she went there unresisting. Her hands explored his body as she lay trembling in his arms.

He caressed her leg as he kissed her, his hand roving slowly over the soft flesh, inching ever upwards towards the unexplored valley at their peak. Bode parted her legs slightly under his ministrations. Boldly she reached down to squeeze the tight muscles of his bottom. In response, he let his tongue touch hers, just a little, and thrilled to the way she shivered. Higher his hand ventured, and her legs parted a little more. Rand’s hard cock pressed against Bode’s hip. He knew she could feel it there, for she kept pushing herself against him curiously, as though trying to get a feel for him with that alone. She hesitantly reached her tongue towards his; he met it, and they kissed like that for a while, always with Rand’s hand caressing her soft thigh.

By the time he’d inched his way towards her sex, Bode’s legs were spread wide. When he cupped her in the palm of his hand, putting pressure on the whole of her privates, Bode broke their kiss and gasped loudly. The heat of her beat against Rand’s palm. He watched her face as he trailed one lone finger from the hole of her bottom all the way along her now-very-wet slit. Though red-faced, she met his eyes as he found her special entrance and slipped his finger slowly inside.

“Oh! Rand ... that feels so much better than when—” she tossed her head, biting her lip and suddenly too shy to meet his eyes.

“When you do it yourself?” he teased. Her blush told the tale. He laughed softly. “Naughty girl. Perhaps there’s a bit of Mat in you after all.”

“Don’t say that!” she gasped as he stroked her insides with his finger.

Rand kissed his way down Bode’s neck as he fingered her. The heel of his thumb rested against her hooded bulb, and as he felt it growing bigger he began to rub that, too. Her wetness had soaked his hand and her light cries of pleasure were coming fast by the time his lips found her breasts. He added a second finger then, and took one stiff nipple in his mouth to suck upon. Bode came suddenly. Her thighs clenched his hand between them and the arm that she spasmodically wrapped around his neck squeezed him to her breast almost painfully.

“Oh. Oh. Oh, Light. Oh,” she gasped over and over as she jerked on the bed. Rand kept moving his fingers and his tongue against her until her “ohs” had turned to deep breaths of satisfaction.

When her arms and legs had relaxed once more, he started kissing his way further down her body, over her round belly and then lower still.

“Rand?”

“Shh, you’ll like this,” he said.

They both realised the truth of that from the way she began moaning the moment his lips touched her lower ones. His sticky hand he transferred to her breast, kneading it even as his tongue darted out to lap against her sex. Bode’s moans rose and fell with the movement of his tongue. Rand amused himself by playing her like the flute he hadn’t used in months. A flick of his tongue against her engorged nub brought the highest notes, while a long, slow taste of her whole slit brought out a fittingly long and low one. Eventually, five high notes in a row brought her to her second climax of the day. This time it was his hair she clutched as she writhed in orgasm. He kept his mouth pressed against her pussy as she came, glad to taste her juices.

Once she’d caught her breath once more, Rand rose to his knees and took Bode by the hips. Her eyes were hazy with pleasure but she blinked them to alertness when she saw his hard cock thrusting out before him.

“Y-you ... A-are you going to put that i-in me, now?”

“Not yet,” Rand murmured. He turned her over and guided her to her hands and knees. She went willingly, and showed him the round, fleshy cheeks of her bottom. He touched them, and savoured the way they moved under his hands.

“Like ... like you did to Egwene?” she said in a high-pitched voice.

Rand hesitated. She hadn’t said he couldn’t and she didn’t move from the position at all. But that might be a bit too painful for her right then, and things had gone so well so far. He bit his lip, but in the end, he just gave her cheeks a fond pat. “Some other time, perhaps,” he whispered regretfully. For now though ...

He kissed her big globes and slid a finger back into her still-wet pussy. This time he only stirred her for a little while before adding a second finger, and those he curved towards a certain spot he’d—or rather, Raye’d—very much enjoyed touching.

Bode got into it quickly and her panting turned to lewd moans when he used his other hand to part her fleshy cheeks and give his tongue access to the puckered hole of her ass. She struggled for words as he licked along the outer ring of her little butthole, the twin sensations just too much for her young mind to handle.

“Rand ... D-don’t ... That’s d-dirty ...” she finally managed to force out, between her wanton groans.

“You just let me worry about that,” he said, his breath hot against her hole and his fingers moving fast within her. Despite her weak protestations, Bode had taken a deathgrip on the bedsheets and it was less than a minute before she came yet again. This time she collapsed on the bed face first. The twitches of her orgasmic body made her big bottom shake in a way that made Rand’s already rock hard cock engorge painfully.

Armed with the knowledge of a woman’s body that his female counterpart had shared with him, Rand knew he could take the girl to the same heights he’d already taken her several more times before she broke. But his own body screamed at him for satisfaction. So he took Bode by the shoulders and turned her over once again. He tried to make his grip gentle but feared he had failed. Still, there was no fear in her eyes when she looked up into his.

“Bode. I want—I  _ need _ to be in you,” he said in a low growl.

Bodewhin Cauthon shivered in his grasp, but parted her legs for him, raising her knees high. “Take me,” she whispered, looking him straight in the eye.

He wasted no time before getting between her legs and aiming his cock at her juicy hole. Leaning above her, Rand pushed his hips forwards. Her lower lips embraced the head of his cock, wrapping it in warmth, and then slid slowly down his thick length. He watched Bode’s face as he entered her, alive to the twinges of pain that he saw there. It was a difficult thing, but he made himself go slow, waiting for her to adjust to the feeling before he moved further inside.

She clutched his shoulders as he slid deeper into her. “Light, Rand. It’s so big. I don’t think it will fit,” she whispered fearfully.

He petted her hair in what he hoped was a comforting manner. “It’s alright. It doesn’t always; it depends on the woman. I’ll stop if you want me to.”

“Other ... Well, yes.” A stubborn look crossed Bodewhin’s very Therener face. “I can take it. Keep going.”

He did, but still slowly, and when he felt her tightest resistance and eased her open, she whimpered against his chest. He held her for a while, petting her hair and murmuring sweet nothings, letting her get used to the feel of him inside her.

“That’s my girl. My brave girl,” he whispered in the middle of it all.

“Shouldn’t it be, ‘That’s my woman’ now?” Bode said with a little laugh. They kissed then, lying still on the bed, though Rand desperately wanted to move faster. The feel of her hot, tight pussy wrapped around him hadn’t sated his hunger, it had only enflamed it.

When she started moving beneath him, rocking her hips slowly to rub his staff along her tight passage, Rand knew she was ready. He moved his own hips in time with hers, but longer and firmer, sliding his cock in and out of her pussy. Bode let out a series of long, sweet moans at the feel of him moving inside her. Her plump body glistened with sweat, and dark strands of hair clung to her pretty, round face. As he sped up, she began shaking with the force of his thrusts; the motion of her breasts drew Rand’s eyes like moths to a flame. Supporting his weight on one arm, he squeezed one of those huge breasts in his free hand. When he pinched her nipple between thumb and forefinger, Bode let out a gasp and began rocking against him more insistently.

Feeling her excitement, Rand reached down between them and found her stiffened nub once more. He rubbed it in time with his thrusts as Bode wrapped her legs around his hips, urging him on. Her eyes popped when she came yet again.

The sight of her, staring up at him wonderingly while her tight little pussy fluttered around his cock drove Rand to the brink. He rested his weight on her soft and warm body and reached both hands around to grasp her fleshy buttocks. He fucked her hard, no longer trying to pleasure the girl, but only seeking his own climax. The little sounds she yelped in his ear, and the way her arms and legs held so tightly to him, spurred Rand on. He rode Bode wildly until his pleasure crested, and was ready to break over them both.

“I’m going to come in you, Bode,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

“Do it!” she gasped in his ear. “I want you to do what no-one ever has.”

Rand let himself relax atop her and with that simple motion his come burst forth to flood her virgin womb. Bodewhin made soft, wondering sounds as she felt his hot come flowing inside her. She caressed his body lovingly as he lay there trying to catch his breath and too lost in blissful tiredness to worry about the discomfort of his weight on top of her. He had stopped moving when his orgasm struck, but Bode kept rocking her hips, pressing her cheeks back against his now-splayed hands while she milked the last drops of come out of his cock.

When at last he had recovered himself enough to roll off of her and sprawl on the bed, Bode turned onto her side with a satisfied groan and rested her head upon his shoulder. “That was ... that was wonderful,” she sighed.

He rested his hand in the hollow of her waist. “I’m glad you liked it. I certainly did.”

She snuggled closer. “I feel like I could sleep for the rest of the day.”

“Me too. This is nice,” he mumbled honestly. Her warm and cuddly body felt good pressed up against him like that. Rand didn’t try to fight it when his eyes drifted shut.

“If my mother wakes up and finds me gone she’ll wonder where I’ve been,” Bode mumbled back. “I should ... sleep ... later ...” The rise and fall of her breasts against his side became slow and even. When sleep washed over Rand, Bodewhin Cauthon was still lying there beside him on the bed.


	46. The First Toss

CHAPTER 43: The First Toss

New Braem didn’t look all that new to Mat. Despite its strategic position near the mouth of Braem Pass, the city walls were made of logs rather than stone and were short enough that a good ladder could take you straight over. He supposed Andor wasn’t much interested in defending against Tar Valon. Call that fear or call it respect, Mat Cauthon didn’t share it either way.

He could still feel Joline through the bond she’d snuck into his mind. She hadn’t left the city, not yet, but while riding for the pass he’d felt the moment that she realised he’d made it beyond the Shining Walls. He’d felt her outrage and her determination to get him back, too. Worse, he was sure she could tell where he was, just as easily as he could tell where she was. Mat wouldn’t let himself be caught by the Aes Sedai again, especially not  _ that _ Aes Sedai.

He didn’t mean to linger long in New Braem. He just needed a day to resupply and a night to rest before heading on to Caemlyn. Most of the buildings here were made of wood, with stone foundations that looked a good bit older than the planking. It was a prosperous town for all that though, with lumberjacks aplenty striding down the dirt streets in search of food or drink or entertainment for the evening. Mat smiled at the sight of them and patted his belt pouch.

As he walked Red through the city he attracted little attention. His clothes were nondescript, and he looked no different from many Andoran men—many other Andoran men, they’d have him believe, but Mat wasn’t buying that. The Theren was its own little nation so far as he was concerned.

The rest of his clothes were tied up in a roll with the blankets he’d stolen from his bed back in Tar Valon, and the big leather scrip he had found on one of his earlier forays dangled from his saddle, bulging with the bread and cheese and fruit he had squirreled away. The quarterstaff he’d helped himself to did for a walking staff. He’d left nothing behind. His coat pockets held all his smaller belongings, and his belt pouch held the most important. Elayne’s letter. And his dice cups.

_ I’ll deliver your bloody letter. The nerve of her, thinking I’d say I would, then not. I will deliver the bloody thing if it kills me _ .

With as light a heart as he could remember having in years, or so it seemed, he began to hum “We’re Over the Border Again”, heading toward the centre of town.

Along the major avenues, pairs of lamplighters used their ladders to light lanterns atop tall poles. But in the part of New Braem he sought, the only light was what spilled from windows.

The dark streets hummed with as much life as any. Traders and those who bought what they sold, people who travelled the road between Caemlyn and Tar Valon, and people who worked the forest nearby, all filled the taverns and the common rooms of the inns, in company with those who sought the money such folk carried, by fair means or murky. Raucous music filled the streets from bittern and flute, harp and hammered dulcimer. The first inn Mat entered had three dice games in progress, men crouched in circles near the common-room walls and shouting the wins and losses.

He only meant to gamble an hour or so, just long enough to add a few coins to his purse, but he won. He had always won more than he lost, as far as he could remember, and there had been times in Shienar and Tar Valon, when six or eight tosses in a row won for him. Tonight, every toss won. Every toss.

From the looks some of the men gave him, he was glad he had left his own dice in his pouch. Those looks made him decide to move on. With surprise he realized that he had nearly thirty silver marks in his purse now, but he had not won so much from any one man that they would not all be glad to see him go. All except for one bearded fellow, anyway, who followed him down the darkened street, arguing for a chance to make good his losses. Mat wanted to move on—thirty silver marks was more than enough—but the man argued on, and he had only used half his hour, so he gave in, and with the man entered the next tavern they passed.

He won again, and it was as if a fever gripped him. He won every throw. From tavern to inn to tavern he went, never staying long enough to anger anyone with the amount of his winnings. And he still won every toss. He exchanged silver for gold with a money changer. He played at crowns, and fives, and maiden’s ruin. He played games with five dice, and with four, and three, and even only two. He played games he did not know before he squatted in the circle, or took a place at the table. And he won. Somewhere during the night, the hairy woodsman—Ron, he had said his name was—staggered away, exhausted but with a full purse; he had decided to put his wagers on Mat. Mat visited another money changer—or perhaps two; the fever seemed to cloud his brain as badly as his memories of the past were clouded—and made his way to another game. Winning.

And so he found himself, he did not know how many hours later, in a tavern filled with tabac smoke—The Polished Axe, he thought it was called—staring down at five dice, each showing a deeply carved crown. Most of the patrons here seemed interested only in drinking as much as they could, but the rattle of dice and shouts of players from another game in the far corner were almost submerged by a woman singing to a quick tune from a hammered dulcimer.

“I’ll dance with a girl with eyes of brown, or a girl with eyes of green,

I’ll dance with a girl with any colour eyes, but yours are the prettiest I’ve seen.

I’ll kiss a girl with hair of black, or a girl with hair of gold,

I’ll kiss a girl with any colour hair, but it’s you I want to hold.”

The singer had named the song as “What He Said to Me.” Mat remembered the tune as “Wil You Dance With Me,” with different words, but at that moment all he could think of were those dice.

“The king again,” one of the men squatting with Mat muttered. It was the fifth time in a row Ma had thrown the king.

He had won the bet of a gold mark, not even caring by this time that his Andoran mark outweighed the other man’s Illianer coin, but he scooped the dice into the leather cup, rattled it hard, and spun them across the floor again. Five crowns. Light, it can’t be. Nobody ever threw the king six times running. Nobody.

“The Dark One’s own luck,” another man growled. He was a bulky fellow, his dark hair tied at the nape of his neck with a black ribbon, with heavy shoulders, scars on his face, and a nose that had been broken more than once.

Mat was scarcely aware of moving before he had the bulky man by the collar, hauling him to his feet, slamming him back against the wall. “Don’t you say that!” he snarled. “Don’t you ever say that!” The man blinked down at him in astonishment; he was a full head taller than Mat.

“Just a saying,” somebody behind him was muttering. “Light, it’s just a saying.”

Mat released his grip on the scar-faced man’s coat and backed away. “I ... I ... I don’t like anybody saying things like that about me. I’m no Darkfriend!”  _ Burn me, not the Dark One’s luck. Not that! Oh, Light, did that bloody dagger really do something to me? _

“Nobody said you was,” the broken-nosed man muttered. He seemed to be getting over his surprise, and trying to decide whether to be angry.

Gathering his belongings from where he had piled them behind him, Mat walked out of the tavern, leaving the coins where they lay. It was not that he was afraid of the big man. He had forgotten the man, and the coins, too. All he wanted was to be outside, in fresh air, where he could think.

In the street, he leaned against the wall of the tavern not far from the door, breathing the coolness in. The dark streets were all but empty, now. Music and laughter still floated from the inns and taverns, but few people made their way through the night. Holding the quarterstaff upright in front of him with both hands, he lowered his head to his fists and tried to think at the puzzle from every side.

He knew he was lucky. He could remember always being lucky. But somehow, his memories from Emond’s Field did not show him as lucky as he had been since leaving. Certainly he had gotten away with a great deal, but he could remember also being caught in pranks he had been sure would succeed. His mother had always seemed to know what he was up to, and Nynaeve able to see through whatever defences he put up. But it was not just since leaving the Theren that he had become lucky. The luck had come once he took the dagger from Shadar Logoth. He remembered playing at dice back home with a sharp-eyed, skinny man who worked for a merchant come down from Baerlon to buy tabac. He remembered the strapping his father had given him, too, on learning Mat owed the man a silver mark and four pence.

“But I’m free of the bloody dagger,” he mumbled. “Those bloody Aes Sedai said I was.” He wondered how much he had won tonight.

When he dug into his coat pockets, he found them filled with loose coins, crowns and marks, both silver and gold that glittered and glinted in the light from nearby windows. He had two purses now, it seemed, and both fat. He undid the strings, and found more gold. And still more stuffed into his belt pouch between and around and on top of his dice cups, crumpling Elayne’s letter. He had a memory of tossing silver pence to serving girls because they had pretty smiles or pretty eyes or pretty ankles, and because silver pence were not worth keeping.

_ Not worth keeping? Maybe they weren’t. Light, I’m rich! I am bloody rich! Maybe it was something the Aes Sedai did. Something they did Healing me. By accident, maybe. That could be it. Better that the other. Those bloody Aes Sedai must have done it to me _ .

A big man moved out from the tavern, the door already swinging shut to cut off the light that might have shown his face.

Mat pressed his back close against the wall, stuffed the purses back into his coat, and firmed his grip on the quarterstaff. Wherever his luck tonight had come from, he did not mean to lose all that gold to a footpad.

The man turned toward him, peered, then gave a start. “C-cool night,” he said drunkenly. He staggered closer, and Mat saw that most of his size was fat. “I have to ... I have to ...” Stumbling, the fat man moved on up the street, talking to himself disjointedly.

“Fool!” Mat muttered, but he was not sure whether he meant it for the fat man or for himself. “Time to get away from here.” He squinted at the black sky, trying to estimate how long till dawn. Two, maybe three hours, he thought. “Past time.” His stomach growled at him; he dimly recalled eating in some of the inns, but he did not remember what. The fever of the dice had had him by the throat. “Way past time. Or Joline will come pick me up with her fingers and stick me in her pouch.” He pushed away from the wall and started for the stable where he’d left Red.

At first he thought the faint sounds behind him were echoes of his boots on the cobblestones. Then he realized someone was following him. And trying to be stealthy.  _ Well, these are footpads, for sure _ .

Hefting the quarterstaff, he briefly considered turning to confront them. But it was dark, and the footing uncertain, and he had no idea how many there were.  _ Just because you did well against the Warders doesn’t make you a bloody hero out of a story _ .

He turned down a narrower, twisting side street, trying to walk on tiptoe and move quickly at the same time. Every window was dark here, and most shuttered. He was almost to the end when he saw movement ahead, two men peering into the side street from where it let out onto another. And he heard slow footsteps behind him, soft scrapes of boot leather on stone.

In an instant he ducked into the shadowy corner where one building stuck out further than the next. It seemed the best he could do for the moment. Gripping the quarterstaff nervously, he waited.

A man appeared from back the way he had come, crouching as he eased himself ahead one slow step at a time, and then another man. Each carried a knife in his hand and moved as if stalking.

Mat tensed. If they came just a few steps closer before they noticed him hiding in the deeper shadows of the corner, he could take them by surprise. He wished his stomach would stop fluttering. Those knives were a great deal shorter than the practice swords, but they were steel, not wood.

One of the men squinted toward the far end of the narrow street and suddenly straightened, shouting, “Didn’t he come your way, then?”

“I have seen nothing but the shadows,” came the answer in a heavy accent. “I wish to be out of this. There are the strange things moving this night.”

Not four paces from Mat, the two men exchanged looks, sheathed their knives, and trotted back the way they had come.

He let out a long, slow breath.  _ Luck. Burn me if it’s not good for more than dice _ .

He could no longer see the men at the mouth of the street, but he knew they were still out on the next street somewhere. And more behind him the other way.

One of the buildings he was crouched against stood only a single story high here, and the roof looked flat enough. And a white stone frieze ran up the joining of the two buildings.

Easing his quarterstaff up till one end rested on the edge of the roof, he gave it a hard shove. It landed with a clatter on the roof tiles. Not waiting to see if anyone had heard, he scrambled up the frieze, the big leaves giving easy toeholds even for a man in boots. In seconds he had the staff back in hand and was trotting across the roof, trusting to luck for his footing.

Three more roofs he crossed, gained a second storey in the process. The slightly sloping, tiled roofs ran some distance at that level, and there was a breeze at that height, prickling the hair on the back of his neck with its chill and almost making him think he was being followed.  _ Stop that, fool! They’re three streets away by now, looking for somebody else with a fat purse, and bad luck to them _ .

His boots slipped on the tiles, and he decided it might be a good idea to think about getting back down into the street himself. Cautiously, he moved to the edge of the roof and peered down. An empty street lay below him, with three taverns and an inn spilling light and music into the night.

He tossed the quarterstaff down and readied himself to follow, meaning to roll the way he had as a boy, when falling out of a tree. “Bad habits pay off in the long run,” he told himself.

Some instinct made him glance backwards and he suddenly became aware of a man sharing the roof with him. A man with a dagger in his hand.

Mat grabbed at the hand as the knife darted toward his throat. He barely caught the fellow’s wrist with his fingers. The man’s weight pushed him backwards until he teetered on the very edge of the roof. Balanced there with his assailant’s bared teeth in his face, he was as aware of the long drop under his head as he was of the blade catching faint moonlight as it edged toward his throat. His finger grip on the man’s wrist was slipping, and his other hand was caught between their bodies. Only seconds had passed since he first saw the man, and in seconds more, he was going die with a knife in his throat.

“Time to toss the dice,” he said. He thought the other man looked confused for an instant, but an instant was all he had. With a heave of his legs, Mat flipped them both off into the empty air.

For a stretched-out moment he seemed to have no weight. Air whistled past his ears and ruffled his hair. He thought he heard the other man scream, or start to. The impact knocked all the air out of his lungs and made silver-black flecks dance across his blurring vision.

When he could breathe again—and see—he realized he was lying on top of the man who had attacked him, his fall cushioned by the other’s body. “Luck,” he whispered. Slowly he climbed to his feet, cursing the bruises.

He expected the other man to be dead but what he had not expected was to see the fellow’s dagger driven to the hilt into his own heart. Such an ordinary-looking man to have tried to kill him. Mat did not think he would even have noticed him in a crowded room.

“You had bad luck, fellow,” he told the corpse shakily.

Suddenly, everything that had happened rushed back in on him. The footpads in the twisting street. The scramble over the rooftops. This fellow. The fall. His eyes rose to the roof overhead and a fit of trembling hit him _. I must have been crazy. A little adventure is one thing, but Rogosh Eagle-eye wouldn’t ask for this _ .

He realized he was standing over a dead man with a dagger in his chest, just waiting for someone to come along and run shouting for the guards. Mat hastened away from the scene.

He knew he should be on his way to Caemlyn right then, but his knees were shaking hard enough in reaction that he could hardly walk. What he wanted was to sit down for just a minute. Just a minute to steady his knees. But when he reached the stable where Red awaited, Mat found himself eyeing the hayloft longingly. He could hear the rain starting to fall outside.

“I have slept under enough bushes since leaving Emond’s Field,” he told himself, “and worn enough soaking clothes. What could it hurt to wait until morning?”


	47. A Hero in the Night

CHAPTER 44: A Hero in the Night

As Mat tossed the quarterstaff up into the loft, thunder crashed in the sky. He scrambled up the ladder, silently congratulating himself on his decision.

Most of the hay was in bales stacked against the outer walls, but there was more than enough loose for him to make a bed with his cloak over it. He pulled a loaf of bread and a wedge of green-veined cheese from his leather scrip; he ate while rain began drumming on the roof, washing the food down with water from his waterbottle.

Mat was lying on his back, staring at the shadowed roof and wondering if the rain would break before morning—he wanted that letter out of his hands as quickly as possible—when he heard an axle creak into the stable. Rolling to the edge of the loft, he peered down. There was enough dusk left for him to see.

A slender woman was straightening from the shafts of the high-wheeled cart she had just dragged in out of the rain, pulling off her cloak and muttering to herself as she shook the wet from it. Her long hair was plaited in a multitude of thin braids, and her silk dress—he thought it was a pale green—was elaborately embroidered across her breasts. The dress had been fine, once, but now it was tattered and stained. She knuckled her back, still talking to herself in a low voice, and hurried to the stable doors to peer out into the rain. Just as hurriedly, she ducked out to pull the big doors shut, enclosing the stable in darkness. There was a rustling below, a clink and a slosh, and suddenly a small flare of light bloomed into a lantern in her hands. She looked around, found a hook on a stall post, hung the lantern, and went to dig under the roped canvas covering her cart.

_ She did that quickly _ .  _ She could have set fire to the stable striking flint and steel in the dark like that _ , Mat thought, his curiosity aroused.

The woman came out with the end of a loaf of bread, which she gnawed as if it were hard and her hunger did not care. Mat thought longingly of his last wedge of cheese. A little generosity could go a long way in his experience. The woman began sniffing at the air, and Mat wondered if the cheese could really be smelled from that far away. He was about to stand and announce his presence when one of the stable doors opened again.

The woman crouched, ready to run, as four men walked in out of the rain, doffing their wet cloaks to reveal pale coats with wide sleeves and embroidery across the chest, and baggy breeches embroidered down the legs. Their clothes might be fancy, but they were all big men, and their faces were grim.

“So, Aludra,” a man in a yellow coat said, “you did not run so fast as you thought to, eh?” He had a strange accent, to Mat’s ear.

“Tammuz,” the woman said as if it were a curse. “It is not enough that you cause me to be cast out of the Guild with your blundering, you great ox-brain you, but now you chase after me as well.” She had the same odd way of speaking as the man. “Do you think that I am glad to see you?”

The one called Tammuz laughed. “You are a very large fool, Aludra, which I always knew. Had you merely gone away, you could have lived a long life in some quiet place. But you could not forget the secrets in your head, eh? Did you believe we would not hear that you try to earn your way making what it is the right of the Guild alone to make?” Suddenly there was a knife in his hand. “It will be a great pleasure to cut your throat, Aludra.”

Mat was not even aware that he had stood up until one of the doubled ropes dangling from the ceiling was in his hand and he had launched himself out of the loft, his quarterstaff clutched in his other hand.  _ Burn me for a bloody fool! _

He only had time for that one frantic thought, and then he was ploughing through the cloaked men, sending them toppling like pins in a game of bowls. The ropes slipped through his hands, and he fell, tumbling across the straw-covered floor himself, coins spilling from his pockets, to end up against a stall. When he scrambled to his feet, the four men were already rising, too. And they all had knives in their hands, now.  _ Light-blind fool! Burn me! Burn me! _

He snapped his staff up just in time to knock the blade out of Tammuz’s fist and thump him a sharp crack on the side of the head. The man crumpled, but the other three were right behind, and for a hectic moment Mat had all he could do with a whirling staff to keep knife blades away from him, rapping knees and ankles and ribs until he could land a good blow on a head. When the last man fell, he stared at them a moment, then raised his glare to the woman. “Did you have to choose this stable to be murdered in?”

She slipped a slim-bladed dagger back into a sheath at her belt. “I would have helped you, but I feared that you might mistake me for one of these great buffoons if I came near with steel in my hand. And I chose this stable because the rain is wet and so am I, and no one was watching this place.”

She was older than he had thought, at least ten or fifteen years older than he, but pretty still, with large, dark eyes and a small, full mouth that seemed on the point of a pout. Or getting ready for a kiss. Despite the strange style, her hair was as brown as any Theren woman’s. It made him think of Sandi Lewin and Ellie Torfinn. They’d both been a good bit older than him, too, but that hadn’t made them any less of a fun tumble. He gave a small laugh and leaned on his staff. “Well, what is done is done. I suppose you were not trying to bring me trouble.”

Aludra shook her head disbelievingly. “This is like a story,” she said. “I am rescued by a young hero”—she frowned at the men sprawled on the stable floor—“from these whose mothers were pigs!”

“Why did they want to kill you?” Mat asked. “He said something about secrets.”

“I was an Illuminator,” Aludra said stiffly, “but this great pig Tammuz, he ruined a performance for the Queen of Cairhien, and nearly he destroyed the chapter house, too. But me, I was Mistress of the Chapter House, so it was me that the Guild held responsible.” Her voice became defensive. “I do not tell the secrets of the Guild, no matter what that Tammuz says, but I will not let myself starve while I can make fireworks. I am no more in the Guild, so the laws of the Guild, they do not apply to me now.”

Mat shrugged. “Laws. Who needs them, right?”

“The Guild,” she continued, sounding tired, “they all but blame me for this war in Cairhien, as if that one night of disaster, it made Galldria die. It seems I can no longer remain here,” she went on. “Tammuz and these other oxen, they will wake soon. Perhaps this time they will tell the soldiers that I stole what I have made.” She eyed Mat, frowning in thought, and seemed to reach a decision. “I must reward you, but I have no money. However, I have something that is perhaps as good as gold. Maybe better. We shall see what you think.”

Mat smirked to himself as she went to root under the canvas covering her cart.  _ I’ll help anyone who can pay _ . “Don’t sell yourself short, Aludra. You’re worth far more than gold; I know that already. Mat Cauthon, by the way.” He gave her his best smile.

The flat look she gave him in return was a little disappointing. “What you are thinking, Mat Cauthon, is not what I am meaning, yes?”

Aludra separated one bundle from a number like it, a short roll of heavy, oiled cloth almost as fat as her arms would go around. Setting it down on the straw, she undid the binding cords and unrolled the cloth across the floor. Four rows of pockets ran along the length of it, the pockets in each row larger than those in the one before. Each pocket held a wax-coated cylinder of paper just large enough for its end, trailing a dark cord, to stick out. “Attend me closely,” she said.

Mat squatted beside her, fascinated. “Fireworks. I knew it. You could sell those for enough to live ten days or more at a good inn, and eat well every day.”

He had seen fireworks twice in his life. Peddlers had brought them to Emond’s Field, at great expense to the Women’s Circle. When he was ten, he had tried to cut one open to see what was inside, and had caused an uproar. Bran al’Caar, the Mayor’s husband, had cuffed him; Doral Barran, who had been the Wisdom then, had switched him; and his father had strapped him when he got home. Nobody in the village would talk to him for a month, except for Rand and Perrin, and they mostly told him what a fool he had been. He reached out to touch one of the cylinders. Aludra slapped his hand away.

“Attend me first, I say! These smallest, they will make a loud bang, but no more.” They were the size of his little finger. “These next, they make a bang and a bright light. The next, they make the bang, and the light, and many sparkles. The last”—these were fatter than his thumb—“make all of those things, but the sparkles, they are many colours. Almost like a night-flower, but not up in the sky.”

_ Nightflower? _ Mat thought.

“You must be especially careful of these. You see, the fuse, it is very long.” She saw his blank look, and waggled one of the long, dark cords at him. “This, this!”

“Where you put the fire,” he muttered. “I know that.”

Aludra grunted. “Where you put the fire. Yes. Do not stay close to any of them, but these largest, you run away from when you light the fuse. You comprehend me?” She briskly rolled up the long cloth. “You may sell these if you wish, or use them. Remember, you must never put this close to fire. Fire will make them all explode. So many as this at once, it could destroy a house, maybe.” She hesitated over retying the cords, then added, “And there is one last thing, which you may have heard. Do not cut open any of these, as some great fools do to see what is inside. Sometimes when what is inside touches air, it will explode without the need of fire. You can lose fingers, or even a hand.”

“I’ve heard that,” Mat said dryly.

She frowned at him as if wondering whether he meant to do it anyway, then finally pushed the rolled bundle toward him. “Here. I must go now, before these sons of goats awaken.” Glancing at the still open door, and the rain falling in the night beyond, she sighed. “Perhaps I will find somewhere else dry. I think I will go toward Caemlyn, tomorrow. These pigs, they will expect me to go to Tar Valon, yes?”

It was even further to Caemlyn than to Tar Valon, and Mat suddenly remembered that hard end of bread. And she had said she had no money. The fireworks would buy no meals until she found someone who could afford them. She had never even looked at the gold and silver that had spilled from his pockets when he fell; it glittered and sparkled among the straw in the lantern light.  _ Ah, Light, I cannot let her go hungry, I suppose _ . He scooped up as much as he could reach quickly.

“Uh ... Aludra? I have plenty, you can see. I thought perhaps ...” He held out the coins toward her. “I can always win more.”

She paused with her cloak half around her shoulders, then smiled. “You are young yet, eh?”

Mat glowered at her and lowered his hand.

Lifting the shafts of her cart, Aludra got it turned around and started for the door, giving Tammuz a kick in the ribs as she passed. He groaned groggily.

“I would like to know something, Aludra,” Mat said. “How did you light that lantern so quickly in the dark?”

Stopping short of the door, she smiled over her shoulder at him. “You wish me to tell you all of my secrets? I am grateful, but I am not in love. That secret, not even the Guild knows, for it is my discovery alone. I will tell you this much. When I know how to make it work properly, and work only when I want it to, sticks will make my fortune for me.” Throwing her weight against the shafts, she pulled the cart into the rain, and the night swallowed her.

“Sticks?” Mat said. He wondered if she might not be a little strange in the head. Tammuz groaned again. One of Tammuz’s companions twitched as if coming to, and muttered something incomprehensible. Rain or no, Mat suddenly wanted to be far away from New Braem. And a little company for the road would be nice. Especially if it was pretty company.

“Aludra! Wait!” he called. “Purely by coincidence, I’m heading to Caemlyn, too. Maybe we could go together. I bet you’d rather my horse pulled that cart that you pushed it.”

He could barely see her in the dark, but he knew when she halted by the way her axle stopped creaking. “One horse, for the both of us? Are you thinking things you should not be again?”

Mat spread his hands. “Hey. I know how to take no for an answer.” A slow smile spread across his face. “But if you ever changed your mind ...”

She snorted again. “A horse’s company, I suppose it might be welcome,” she said. He might have been offended by her having more interest in Red than in him, except for the teasing sound to her voice. Teasing often led to flirting, in his experience.

By the time they had gathered everything, saddled Red and lashed her cart to the stallion, Tammuz was up on his hands and knees with his head hanging, and the others were stirring and groaning, too.

Swinging into his saddle, Mat stared at the rain outside the open door, falling harder than ever. He offered Aludra his hand and pulled her up behind him. They both adjusted the hoods of their cloaks in what he was sure would be a futile effort to ward off the rain. “A bloody hero,” he said. “Aludra, if I ever look like acting the hero again, you kick me.”

“And what would you have done differently?” she said snippily.

“Just kick me!” He nudged his horse in the ribs and trotted into the rainy night.

As expected, it was a slow and miserable journey south. At least at first. The rain let up after a few hours, but by then Mat was thoroughly soaked, cloak or no. He was just glad the fireworks were safe in their oiled wrap. It was long past bedtime before they felt they’d put enough distance between them and New Braem that they could rest. Mat was so tired he might have gone without a fire but Aludra’s pestered him to gather a little firewood. It was the “little” part that persuaded him. He didn’t think the twigs and brush he returned with would be enough for a fire—he just did it so she’d stop complaining—but her deftness at lighting flames surprised him again. He would never have admitted it, but he was glad of her fire when they finally lay down for the night. In separate bedrolls, as she insisted, despite his perfectly reasonable suggestion that they share warmth.

They had better weather for travelling the next day. He managed to get Aludra talking about herself. Women always loved to do that. It turned out she was from Tanchico, the capital of Tarabon. She’d been born into the Illuminator’s Guild, like her mother and her grandmother before her. They were more like her family than her guild, and when Mat disdainfully asked how they could have exiled her, she couldn’t or wouldn’t answer. She was quiet for a good long while after that. After a bit he felt her rest her head against his back as they rode.

They camped early that day, to make up for how little sleep they’d gotten the night before.

As they were polishing off the last of their supper, Aludra gave him a speculative look. “I suppose you’re not going to explain that paper you were looking at earlier—I saw the seal.”

“I am carrying a letter to Morgase for Elayne,” Mat said a good deal more patiently than he felt. He itched to take a hot knife to that letter and have a peek at what was so important—he was sure he could put it back together well enough that no-one would even notice he’d looked—but he couldn’t do that while Aludra was watching. It’d be ... awkward.

Aludra shook her head exasperatedly. “Well, if you are not going to tell me, I am going to sleep.” She rolled on her side and pulled a blanket over her head.

Mat scowled at the mound of blankets she lay under _. I am too carrying her bloody letter! _ Her disbelief put him in a mood. Even after he had crawled under his own blankets, he could not sleep.

And he could not stop thinking. How had Nynaeve and Elayne gotten that paper from the Amyrlin? They had to be involved with the Amyrlin Seat herself—in some plot, one of those White Tower machinations—but now that he thought about it, they had to be holding something back from the Amyrlin, too.

“ ‘Please carry a letter to my mother, Mat,’ ” he said softly, in a high-pitched, mocking voice. “Fool! The Amyrlin would have sent a Warder with any letter from the Daughter-Heir to the Queen. Blind fool, wanting to get out of the Tower so bad I couldn’t see it.”

Most of all, though, he thought about luck, and footpads.

He was still sitting awake, examining the smallest of the fireworks Aludra had given him, when a voice called out of the twilight. “Ho, the fire!”

Aludra sat up and exchanged glances with Mat. She stood slowly, and she did so with a wary look and a hand hidden in a fold of her skirts. Mat heard horses’ hooves approach. It was late for anyone honest to be travelling. But the Queen’s Guards kept the roads safe this close to Caemlyn, and the four who rode into the firelight certainly did not look like robbers. One was a woman. The men all wore long cloaks and seemed to be her retainers, while she was pretty and blue-eyed, in gold necklace and a grey silk dress and a velvet cloak with a wide hood. The men dismounted. One held her reins and another her stirrup, and she smiled at Mat, doffing her gloves as she came near the fire.

“I fear we are caught out late, young master,” she said, “and I would trouble you for directions to an inn, if you know one.”

He grinned and started to rise. He had made it as far as a crouch when he heard one of the men mutter something, and another produced a crossbow from under his cloak, already drawn, with a clip holding the bolt.

“Kill him, fool!” the woman shouted, and Mat tossed the firework into the flames and threw himself toward his quarterstaff. There was a loud bang and a flash of light—“Aes Sedai!” a man cried. “Fireworks, fool!” the woman shouted—and he rolled to his feet with the staff in his hand to see the crossbow bolt sticking out of a fallen log almost where he had been sitting, and the crossbowman falling with the hilt of one of Aludra’s knives adorning his chest.

It was all he had time to see, for the other two men darted past the fire at him, drawing swords. They fought as a pair, dividing their opponent’s attention; the first man thrust his blade at Mat’s middle, while the second darted around to his side. Feeling almost contemptuous, Mat cracked the first fellow’s wrist with one end of his staff, sending the sword flying, and cracked his forehead with the other. The man’s eyes rolled up in his head as he collapsed. The second barely had time to set his feet before Mat was on him, his staff a blur. The nameless attacker managed to deflect three of his strikes but the fourth clipped his heel out from under him and the fifth crushed his throat as he lay prone on the ground.

From the corner of his eye, Mat saw the woman walking toward him, and he stuck a finger at her like a knife. “Fine clothes you wear for a thief, woman! You sit down till I decide what to do with you, or I’ll—”

She looked as surprised as Mat at the knife that suddenly bloomed in her throat, a red flower of spreading blood. He took a half step as if to catch her as she fell, knowing it was no good. Her long cloak settled over her, covering everything but her face, and the hilt of Aludra’s knife.

“Burn you,” Mat muttered. “Burn you, Aludra! A woman! Light, we could have tied he up, given her to the Queen’s Guards in Caemlyn. Light, I might even have let her go. She’d rob nobody without these three, and the only one that lives will be days before he can see straight and months before he can hold a sword. Burn you, Aludra, there was no need to kill her!”

The Illuminator walked to where the woman lay, and kicked back her cloak. The dagger had half fallen from her hand, its blade as wide as Mat’s thumb and two hands long. “Would you rather I had waited till she nested that in your ribs, fool?” She retrieved her own knife, wiping the blade on the woman’s cloak.

Mat realized he was humming “She Wore a Mask That Hid Her Face,” and stopped it. He bent down and hid hers with the hood of her cloak. “Best we move on,” he said quietly. “I do not want to have to explain this if a patrol of the Guards happens by.”

“With her in those clothes?” Aludra said. “Definitely not! They must have robbed a merchant, or some noblewoman’s carriage.” Her dark eyes turned shrewd. “She was as guilty as the other three. It was done in defence of our lives. There is no need to feel guilty.”

Mat gave a start and pulled his eyes from the dead woman. “Why would I feel guilty?” he asked in a dazed voice.

But he did. He had no such compunction about the men. As far as he was concerned, a man who decided to rob and kill deserved what he got when he lost the game. He did not dwell on them, but neither did he jerk his eyes away if they fell on one of the robbers.

He saddled his horse and tied his things on behind, making sure to check the lashings on the roll of fireworks again.  _ If that fool thought one of these was Aes Sedai, I wonder what he’d have thought if they all went off _ .

Aludra took one of the men’s horses for herself, wisely leaving the fancy woman’s horse alone. Someone might recognise it. He went to help her attach her cart to her chosen beast, a dappled grey with strong haunches.

_ Elayne, I will wring your neck when I put my hands on you. And Nynaeve’s, too _ . “I intend to have this bloody letter out of my hands an hour after we reach Caemlyn,” he muttered.

Aludra paused in her labours. “You are thinking these lot were after your letter?”

He nodded. “I don’t know why. But I know when someone is chasing me, and they’d not be chasing this hard or this far for the gold in my pockets, not for less than a chest full of gold. It has to be the letter.”  _ Burn me, pretty girls always get me in trouble _ . “Do you feel like sleeping tonight, after this?”

Aludra sniffed. She gave the lashings on her cart one last check and then mounted up. “Yes. Just not here.”

The face of a pretty woman floated into Mat’s head, with a dagger in her throat.  _ You had no luck, pretty woman _ . Mat swung into Red’s saddle. “Then let’s ride!” he said savagely.

They put a few hours’ worth of distance between them and the dead people before making camp again. It was, once more, the dead of night, but Mat didn’t complain about fetching firewood this time. He was glad of the opportunity to be alone with his thoughts. And as soon as he got that opportunity, he became even gladder to be able to return to the small camp, and Aludra. His thoughts were bloody poor company.

Mat would have gone straight to bed, but once more Aludra surprised him. It wasn’t that he hadn’t expected to taste her lips sooner or later—he’d given her his best smile after all—it was just that he hadn’t expected her to be the one to initiate it.

He turned in surprise when he felt her arms snake around his chest, and was still gaping stupidly when she took him by the hair and pulled his mouth down to hers. Never let it be said Mat Cauthon could not think on his feet though. He recovered his balance in a way that would have done a cat proud, and soon he was kissing her back. He tried to brush his hands through her hair but those thin braids made it a bit strange, so he settled for feeling out her waist and hips. She had a good figure for an older woman. Or a young one for that matter.

The stood beside the fire for quite some time before Aludra leaned back with a small smile. “Not bad, Mat. Not bad at all.” She pulled her skirts up far enough to give him a good look at her thighs and reached in to tug down her underwear.

With a start, Mat went to work on his belt. He tried not to read too much into the soft laugh Aludra let out when she pushed him down onto the blankets and clambered atop him.

She took his now-hard cock in hand and guided it towards her hole of choice, the wet one as it turned out. A satisfied sigh escaped her when she sank down onto him. “Not bad at all.”

Mat grinned widely at the feel of her hot pussy rubbing along his shaft. “I knew as soon as I saw you I’d end up like this.”

“You young hero you. Talking less and smiling more would suit you better, yes?” she said as she sank down onto him. She groaned softly once he was fully seated inside her.

Aludra rode him slowly at first, her head thrown back against the night sky. When she saw him staring at her chest, she was kind enough to undo a few buttons on her nice dress and pull her breasts free. Round and smooth they were, and they barely sagged at all. He reached up to knead them in his hands and pinch the hard nipples that crowned them. The movement of Aludra’s hips sped up and one hand went down between her legs, rubbing away at her tender parts.

His roll of fireworks was nearby. Mat grinned over a sudden inspiration. Pulling the roll closer, he smiled up at the woman bouncing on his cock. “Which of these make the sparkles again? The second biggest wasn’t it?”

She blinked down at him, and her motion ceased. “Silly boy. Do you not listen to instructions?” She snatched up one of the second biggest kind and leaned over towards the fire. “Far away you must be, when these are lit.” She touched the fuse to the flame and there was an immediate hissing sound. Aludra tossed the firework as far as she could, in the opposite direction from their tethered horses.

Grinning, she started bouncing on Mat’s cock again, but faster now, almost frantic. Her hand was a blur between her legs.

The sudden boom made Mat’s heart skip a beat. Night was banished for a moment by the fiercest of lights, a crackling incandescence that had the horses stamping and neighing. Aludra stiffened atop Mat and let out a scream that was almost as loud as the explosion had been. The second explosion that occurred, this one inside her pussy when Mat felt her clutching his cock like that, caused a new set of lights to bloom behind Mat’s eyelids.

“Burn me!” he groaned as rope after rope of come shot out of him to fill the former Illuminator’s hot pussy.

Aludra came to rest, sitting in Mat’s lap. She slowly rolled her hips ‘round and ‘round, savouring and prolonging the feeling of their orgasms running through them. When at last she’d had her fill, she slid her pussy up over his softening cock and fell over onto the blankets by his side.

“Don’t go getting all doe-eyed on me, Mat Cauthon,” she sighed, “Old enough to be your mother, I am. Me, I am just using you for your body.” Mat looked away indignantly _. I don’t get doe-eyed! She must think she’s funny _ . There was in fact a smile on her lips, and the definite sound of teasing on her heavily accented voice.  _ Yes. Just teasing. Definitely not doe-eyed, not me _ . Still, the long ride to Caemlyn promised to much more interesting with Aludra for company.


	48. Growth

CHAPTER 45: Growth

It was Natti Cauthon’s idea to return to Emond’s Field, and Rand didn’t try to gainsay her. He knew it would draw the Whitecloaks’ attention to the village if they learned where their recently freed prisoners were but, so far as he was concerned, hiding from the Whitecloaks wasn’t going to solve the problem. They would need to be confronted and made to leave sooner or later.

So after spending a few days relaxing on the abandoned farm, they packed up and returned home. Those days had been a little awkward for Rand. Natti and Abell were suspicious of his relationship with Bode. They didn’t ask him about it directly, which spared him the need to lie to them, but the looks they gave him were a lot less friendly than they once would have been. Bodewhin herself often wore a sulky expression in those days, perhaps because her mother took to shadowing her steps so often. He regretted that, for he’d quite enjoyed sleeping with her and would have welcomed her presence in his bed on the other nights of their stay, too.

Instead he spent his time fending off Imoen’s barrage of questions, or getting to know the Aiel. He felt a little guilty about that at first but Tam assured him it was alright and even encouraged him towards it. He himself kept his distance from them, and from the Shienarans, too.

Rand found the Aiel to be not as terrible as their reputation claimed. So far at least. They were still a strange enough people to make him wary, and some more so than others.

Pearse for example—a hard faced man of a height with Rand but even heavier, whose nose had been broken more than once—asked each night if they’d be hunting the Whitecloaks now. He seemed to think leaving a few hundred corpses lying around the perimeter of the Children’s camp would be enough to make them leave the Theren. The man’s cold blue eyes never blinked once while he was making the suggestions.

Handsome Atswe shared Pearse’s desire for blood, but would have preferred to confront the Whitecloaks directly rather than ambush them in the dark, and Rand wasn’t at all sure that Rhian didn’t agree with him.

Thankfully, Urien proved a more sensible sort. He was not so proud that he could not admit that the numbers were not in their favour, and expressed a desire to limit casualties on their side. Two things which won him a measure of trust from Rand. He was a little relieved that Urien seemed to lead the group. The others never called Urien by any title or saluted him in any way, as wetlanders would have an officer in their army, but they still deferred to him.

The Aiel women made Rand particularly uncomfortable, though he was at a loss to explain why, even to himself. It wasn’t just that they fought like men, though that certainly triggered his Theren-bred sensibilities. He’d encountered such things before, albeit not in the organised fashion of the Maidens of the Spear. It wasn’t even the scars many of them bore, though Tuandha’s was brutal enough that he had to force himself not to flinch each time he looked at her. If anything, it was the way they all looked at him, as thought they were waiting for him to do something. He didn’t think it hostile, or even sexual, but whatever it was, their scrutiny made him nervous.

So he was quite glad to get back to Emond’s Field and the company of more familiar faces.

Rand was almost as surprised by what he saw in the town as the townsfolk looked to be with the party that rode with him. The folk from around Emond’s Field had taken Perrin’s words to heart and come flocking to town in numbers he’d never seen outside of a feastday. He saw the Coles, the al’Caars, the Barrans and the Eldrins among a great many others. He saw more Coplins and Congars than he ever cared to as well. Anna smiled when she saw her Maerin cousins, and waved so brightly that Rand hoped they wouldn’t give her grief about choosing the al’Tolan name over theirs, as they often had growing up.

The folk gathered in numbers to see the colourful newcomers, with no-one seeming quite able to decide who to gape at first, the Shienarans or the Aiel. Rand got a few odd stares himself, for all that he was a familiar face to almost all of them. Even some of those he’d been friends with stared at him as though he were a stranger, like skinny Jerilin al’Caar, who’d always been up for a laugh back in the good old days, or the handsome and serious Tief Ahan, who made as much time for the rest of his age mates as he could in between all but raising his little sister.

Rand gave them both a smile and a reserved wave, but they only blinked in response.

It was Tam, Abell and the freed prisoners that they all gathered around, calling questions and greetings and salutations and recriminations, all tripping over each other to speak. Tam fielded their queries with his usual unflappable calm, though the sparse words he could spare for one before the next called out seemed to satisfy no-one. Marin soon arrived, and silenced the shouting in her gentle but firm way before taking Natti, Alsbet and Ailys aside for a conference.

Rand watched it all from Bela’s back, armed and armoured and clad in his fancy coat, surrounded by his outlander guards and feeling more than ever as though he didn’t quite belong.

It was easy to spot Loial in the crowd, given the way he towered over even the tallest of humans. Dismounting and handing his reins to the ever-solicitous Izana, Rand went to greet the Ogier.

“Was there trouble with your mission, Rand?” he called as Rand approached. “Where’s Perrin? I hope he wasn’t hurt.”

Min was with him. The height difference between her and the Ogier, and her big eyes, combined to make her look almost child-like. “Perrin’s alive, Loial, don’t worry yourself,” she said distractedly.

Rand didn’t need to ask how she knew. “He rode off with some Theren lads a few days ago. I haven’t heard from him since. How have things been here?”

“Eventful, according to the locals.” Min’s smile suggested that she wouldn’t have described it so. “Lots of families moving in. And the two Aes Sedai decided to show themselves. They’re staying at the Winespring Inn now. Loial tells me you met them already.”

Rand grunted. “Met them. And distrusted them. Watch what you say when they can hear.”

She planted her fists on her hips and gave him a flat look. “I learned how to guard my tongue when I was still a little girl. And even if I hadn’t, I’ve been with you long enough to know when silence is needed, sheepherder.” She raised her chin in a way that reminded him of Elayne. “Marin al’Vere has been giving me advice on how to deal with this kind of nonsense you know.”

Rand blinked. The depth of the dismay he felt at hearing that took him by surprise. There was a long pause before he could make himself speak, and when he finally did, it was in a slow, uncertain voice. “Marin is a great believer in the matriarchy. I quite like the way you deal with nonsense though. I don’t see why you’d want to change; you’re perfect just the way you are ...”

Min’s mood changed instantly. “Don’t think you can flatter your way out of this so easily,” she grinned. “You’ll need to try much harder than that to get back on my good side!”

“Who are your friends, Rand?” his father’s voice said from behind.

When he glanced back, he found Tam standing between Uno and Mendao. His armsmen almost always shadowed him that way, but he couldn’t help but wonder if it played some part in why his old friends here in Emond’s Field seemed so distant nowadays. He could see the Aiel beyond Uno’s shoulder, gathered together in a tight group and keeping a careful eye on the Thereners and Shienarans both. They watched Rand, too, almost protectively, but unlike Uno and the others they did so from a distance.

“Father. This is Loial, son of Arent son of Halan, from Stedding Shangtai. He’s an Ogier, obviously.”

Loial’s ears perked up at the introduction and he proffered his hand to Tam with a wide grin. “Master al’Thor, it is an honour to meet you. I’ve been hoping for the opportunity to speak to you about Rand’s past, and your own as well, if that is not too much of an imposition.”

“I’m not sure that there’s much to tell, Master Ogier,” Tam said carefully, as he shook Loial’s hand. Rand noticed that Min was hopping from foot to foot in an oddly nervous fashion.

“And this is Min Farshaw. We met her up in Baerlon, shortly after we left. Then later she helped us rescue a princess from some slavers. She’s not as weird as she seems, once you’ve gotten to know her.” He grinned at her as he spoke, expecting her to roll her eyes over the teasing, but got instead as hot a glare as he’d ever seen from her. “Ah, she’s a good friend really,” he continued more uncertainly. If anything, her glare got hotter.

Tam looked back and forth between them before responding. “A pleasure to meet you, miss. I hope my son hasn’t been giving you too much trouble.”

Min gave over muttering something about stupid sheepherders long enough to paint a fake smile on her face. “Not on purpose at least, Master al’Thor,” she said tightly. “He certainly means well.”

Tam took that, and Rand’s sudden alarm, in with a thoughtful nod. He wasn’t the only one.

Marin examined Min carefully as she approached the knot of people. “I’m convening the Women’s Circle, and the Village Council I suppose, to discuss what to do about these events, and the consequences of them. We’ll want to hear what you have to say.” It was to Tam she spoke, but her eyes rested on Min all the while. The Baerlon girl seemed to shrink under her and Tam’s scrutiny.

Rand wasn’t sure what he’d said to cause this but he tried to fix it nonetheless. “Min was a great help the last time we fought against Trollocs, at Tarcain Cut,” he volunteered.

All three of them shook their heads at him. Only Loial looked as confused as Rand felt.

As Marin led Tam off towards the inn, Min stalked over to join Anna, who was hugging her cousin Kenly. “Was it something I said?” Rand asked Loial.

The Ogier shrugged. “Humans. You are all still a mystery to me.”

“Don’t feel bad about that,” Rand muttered. “I don’t think we understand ourselves half the time.” He picked out Tod Aydaer among the milling crowd, his shy little sister Missi clinging to his shirtsleeve. Rand had asked after them already and been relieved to hear that they’d moved to Emond’s Field after the al’Thor farm was burnt, but it was still good to see the evidence with his own eyes. And yet, seeing Tod and speaking of not knowing one’s own mind, raised other questions for Rand. For example, why did the prospect of walking over there and speaking to someone he’d been intimate with feel like a burden he would rather shirk? He’d wanted to be with Tam and Marin again as soon as he was reunited with them, and he could barely be in the same room as Anna any more without wanting to pull down her trousers and bend her over the nearest object. So why did he feel so little desire on seeing Tod? Perhaps it was because the others showed affection for Rand, no matter how odd their relations might have seemed to others, whereas Tod never really had.

_ Better to it now than spend all day wool-gathering over it _ , he told himself. “Walk with me, Loial. How have you been fitting in here? No-one’s given you any trouble I hope.”

“Not at all. There are the stares, of course, but I’ve gotten used to that since leaving home. But that aside, your people have been as polite as I could have hoped.”

“Good, good,” Rand said absently. Tod had seen him coming, and his back had stiffened. He returned Rand’s nod coolly. “Tod. It’s been a while. I hope you’re keeping well.” Missi’s eyes widened at the sight of the Ogier, and she half hid behind her brother, while taking a sudden interest in the packed dirt of the road.

Tod patted her hand absently. “I’m fine, Rand. A little surprised you’d speak to me. They say you’ve been putting on airs since you came back, what with those guards you surround yourself with.” He smirked. “And those maids. I saw them in the inn the other day. Odd pair. With all those around I wouldn’t have thought you’d want to play with me anymore.”

“That’s what they say, is it?” he muttered. “Well I suppose there’s a little truth to it. Only a little, mind.” Elayne had convinced him of the necessity of it. If he was going to lead the war against the Shadow some day, he’d need to act the part of a leader. And that began with treating his armsmen as armsmen expected to be treated. “With all the work that needs doing, there’s little time left over for playing.” Not with Tod anymore, at least. He’d had plenty of time to play with Anna back on that abandoned farm, thank the Light.

“Such childhood things are best left in the past,” Tod agreed readily. Very readily. Rand tried and failed not to let that sting. “Let’s not even speak of them.” His eyes were steady on Rand’s, his meaning clear. What had happened was an embarrassment to them both, and something they should never let anyone find out about.

“Agreed. Your parents are in good health, I trust?”

Tod shrugged. “They’re their usual selves. The new baby takes up most of ma’s time. And da’s been in a mood since moving into town. Helping Gran in the shop doesn’t suit him; he’d rather be back on the farm.”

He hadn’t heard about Sascya having another child. She was still young enough for it not to be a complete shock, but Missi was twelve now, or perhaps thirteen, and she was the youngest of the Aydaers. Or had been.

“You’ll all be safer here. Trollocs prefer to pick off the easiest targets, rather than risk their skins against anyone who can fight back,” Rand told him.

“Well aren’t you an expert now,” Tod said archly.

Rand sighed. “Not compared to many. But compared to some, I suppose.”

Tod grunted, but a glance at Rand’s worn armour and well-used sword silenced any retort he might have made.

The nearby men moved politely aside for an approaching figure who soon proved to be Tod’s mother, Sascya. She was carrying a swaddled baby, as well as a little more weight than she had when Rand last saw her. She was a beautiful woman whose braided hair hung to below her waist. He’d used to love the sight of her heavy breasts bouncing wildly as she rode him, and her recent pregnancy seemed to have made them even bigger. The wizened baby she cradled against one breast seemed tiny to Rand’s eyes. Sascya smiled at them all. Her lack of surprise over Loial made it plain that she’d met him already, while the brief glance she gave Rand’s Shienaran shadows spoke to her innate composure.

“Tod, dear, Milli Ayellin was asking after you. I don’t think you want to be keeping her waiting. She’s quite proud of herself, that one.”

If Tod heard the hint of disapproval in his mother’s voice he wasn’t much bothered by it. At the mention of Milli’s name, he perked right up. “I’ll go see her at once,” he said, before matching action to word.  _ So that’s the way the wind’s blowing _ , thought Rand.

“Congratulations on the new baby, Mistress Aydaer,” he said, very conscious of Missi’s presence, as well as the other people lingering nearby. They all seemed engrossed in their own talk, but how much could that impression be relied on?

Sascya smiled at him. “Thank you, Rand. She’s a cutie, isn’t she? I called her Ellisande, after the queen from the story.” She presented the baby to him proudly, and Rand smiled down at her as he knew he should. In all honesty, he thought most babies looked alike, but every mother he’d ever met seemed to think hers was the cutest thing in the whole world. Little Ellisande had a bald head and blue eyes, another thing that most babies seemed to share.

“She’s lovely. Does she give you much work?” he asked.

“So much!” Sascya exclaimed. She smiled down at the infant lovingly as she said it. “But don’t they all?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Rand said, shaking his head.

“Of course not. Yet. I expect that won’t last for long,” Sascya teased. He smiled at her. She was usually a solemn woman, so the occasional flash of humour was all the more welcome. His smile waned quickly though, as his thoughts drifted inexorably to his past self, and the future that awaited. Lews Therin Kinslayer had killed his children as well as his wife. It would be better for everyone if Rand avoided any such relationships.

“Why so glum, Rand? You look older than I remember, and I don’t mean just the year that’s passed. What happened to you out there?”

Sascya’s concern warmed him, and made his lie all the more bitter. “We travelled a lot, saw some strange things, and got into more fights than I ever wanted to. Far more.”

“From the sound of things there may be more of those in our future,” Sascya sighed. She hugged the baby to her as she spoke, and Rand felt a stab of guilt at the sight. She should never have to fear for her child. No parent should. But how could he stop it?

“I’m afraid that’s true,” he had to admit after a pause.

She looked out over the soldiers and Aiel gathered between the thatched houses of Emond’s Field, and shook her head sadly. Rand could almost see them through her eyes, just by recalling his own first impressions of them. How strange and out of place they looked, here in the sleepy Theren. “Are those Aiel with you and Perrin, like people say? Will they start it?”

“The Aiel aren’t quite the monsters that they are often said to be,” Loial put in. “They sometimes visit the  _ stedding _ s to trade, and almost never cause trouble while there. Not that I would claim to understand what drives them to do what they do. Elder Haman once told me that their honour code was labyrinthine enough that only an Elder, or an Aiel born, could understand it.”

Rand didn’t know how old an Ogier had to be to be considered an Elder, but since Loial was still a child at just shy of a hundred years of age he imagined it must be very, very old. If even  _ they _ struggled to make sense of the Aiel, then what chance did  _ he _ have?

Even so, Rand might have claimed leadership of the Aiel then. It could have gone some way to assuaging Sascya’s fears, even if it wasn’t entirely true. Instead, he gave her truth. “They came with us, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say they  _ are _ with us. I’ll do what I can to stop them causing any trouble though.”

“They certainly look as if they’re capable of it,” she said, studying them carefully while rocking Ellisande in her arms. The Maidens seemed to draw her attention even more than the men did. “That one is almost as tall as Oren, and looks twice as heavy.” It was Amindha she was talking of, and she was right. None of that weight was fat either; it was pure muscle. “And those two are actually taller. And—Light!—that poor woman.” Rand knew she had noticed Tuandha’s scar then. It ran up the right side of her face from chin to hairline, leaving her mouth bent into a permanent half smile and an empty socket where one eye had been. That the other half of her face was so pretty just made it all the more horrifying. “To think I used to dream of owning a sword. I should apologise to my mother,” Sascya finished with a shudder, holding her baby all the tighter.

Rand’s brows rose. He tried to imagine Sascya as a young girl, playing with sticks and pretending they were swords, as Rand and his friends often had. It was a charming image.

“Never you mind that,” Sascya said firmly when she noticed the look on his face. She turned to Missi. “At least you won’t worry me like I did your Gran, will you dear?” Missi opened her mouth to respond, then looked at Rand and closed it again, choosing instead to shake her head vigorously.

Rand laughed softly. “Perhaps I should leave you two—or three—alone, so you can have a chat.” Missi’s face went red all the way to her hairline. He laughed again. “Well it was good seeing you again. I’m glad you are all well. Take care.”

Sascya’s farewells followed him as he and Loial made their way back towards the Shienarans.

They didn’t quite make it that far though. Rand saw Bode coming, and he was fairly sure she saw him, too, but she still contrived to bump into him. “Oh! Rand. I didn’t see you there,” she said with a cheeky smile. “This must be the Ogier you told me about.” She dipped an unpractised little curtsy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Master Ogier.”

Loial murmured his greetings as Rand provided a name. “This is Bodewhin Cauthon, Mat’s little sister.”

“Oh! The one he always complained about,” Loial said. His eyes went as wide as teacups as his words reached his ears. “I-I. My humblest apologies, Miss Cauthon. It ... Truly it is not safe to open your mouth when  _ ta’veren _ are nearby.”

Bode’s mouth was set in a firm line and her fists rested upon her wide hips. Rand was fairly certain it wasn’t Loial she was mad at though. He smiled reassuringly at the flustered Ogier. Bode had never needed much excuse to give her brother a hard time, so he doubted Loial’s blunder had changed anything really.

Loial wasn’t so sure. “Excuse me please, both of you. I-I must attend to ... to my books. Yes.”

“What has that scoundrel been telling folk about me?” Bode seethed, as Loial beat a hasty, if careful, retreat through the throng of humans.

“Who knows?” Rand hedged. “So. Are you glad to meet your first Ogier? You handled it better than I did.”

“I am. And gladder to get rid of my parents! Light, they are such a pair of worryworts sometimes! You’d think I was still a baby, instead of a grown woman. And Eldrin actually reports my comings and goings to them whenever they ask—the little sneak!”

Rand was a hair’s width from telling her that she sounded very much like her brother right then. Mat had complained endlessly about his family spoiling his efforts to have fun. And especially about his sisters’ tendencies to tout on him. Justice called for Rand to deliver the killing blow and send Bode stumbling back home to search her heart for past sins. Justice for his oldest friend. But justice had a very hard time persuading him to make his newest lover angry with him. In the end, the prospect of getting Bode alone and naked again won out.  _ I’m sorry, Mat _ .

“It’s a pity. I’ve missed you,” he said softly, smiling down at the plump little woman.

She smiled back at him. “Me too. Maybe we could meet up later. In our barn, for example.”

That wicked smile, those dark eyes alight with mischief. Oh yes, who could possible think she had anything in common with her scoundrel of a brother? Rand couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh, I’d like that,” he drawled.

They were interrupted before Bode could respond. “It’s good to hear you laugh, Rand. I wasn’t sure what to think when I saw you among all those soldiers. I mean, I remember you telling me once that you’d like to be a soldier but I was never sure if you were serious or not.”

Tief wore a chagrined smile as he held his hand out. Rand grinned and gave it a firm shake. “I’m told I’ve been putting on airs lately and it’s made people leery of me. I didn’t really mean to, but there it is.”

“A few airs aren’t a terrible thing, so long as it’s only a few,” Bode said, almost under her breath.

Tief pretended not to hear her. He’d always been good at pretending not to know things. His mother had died when he was eight, leaving Tief and his father to raise the child she’d died birthing. Perhaps that shared loss of a mother was what had led to Rand and Tief becoming friends in the first place, but Rand liked to think they would have been close anyway. Tief arguably had it worse than he did. His father worked even harder than Tam to keep their farm in order, leaving Tief almost sole charge over his sister, Mishelle. He attended to his duties there as solemnly and as diligently as he did all others. His shoulders and arms were thick with muscle, and his belly was flat. Tief would have been popular with the girls—or the boys for that matter—if he had any time for that sort of thing.

“I don’t begrudge you your success,” Tief said, “it was just a bit of a shock, seeing you like that.”

_ Success? _ Rand wasn’t sure that was what he’d call it. But he supposed he could understand why it might look like that to an outsider. That was a sad thought.  _ My friend. The outsider _ .

Tief frowned. “Is it true you killed five Myrddraal at once?”

“What!? Who told you that nons—Oh.” Rand grimaced while rubbing vigorously at the back of his head. “Saeri’s a bit ... odd. You have to take whatever she says with a grain of salt. No. I did not kill five Myrddraal at once.” He’d fought three and lived to tell of it, killing one in the process. Morrigan and Tomas had dealt with the others.

“I thought it sounded a bit unlikely. No offense intended,” Tief laughed.

“None taken. I hope Saeri hasn’t been spreading such tales too loudly.”

“Eh ... In this town? How loud does it need to be really?” Tief said with a small smile.

Rand sighed. “Good point.”  _ Blood and ashes. That girl will have everyone thinking I’m more of a braggart than Eward Congar! _

“Who’s Saeri?” Bode asked innocently. Too innocently.

“She’s one of my maids,” Rand sighed.

“You have maids!? Like, to do your laundry or what have you?” He wasn’t sure if Bode was outraged or impressed.

“Two of them,” Tief confirmed with a grin. “And an odd pair they are. One barely speaks and the other goes on like she’s a gleeman, and never mind that she’s about your Eldrin’s age.”

“Ah, leave her be. She likes the way it sounds, and where’s the harm in it?” Rand grouched. He could have explained Luci’s shyness and Saeri’s oddness by telling them what had happened at their home village, but that was not his secret to share.

Bode was shaking her head over it all while Tief told her of the difficulties Marin had had with the girls, when Berowyn al’Vere approached them from the direction of the Winespring Inn. The Mayor’s eldest daughter was generally considered to be her most beautiful, too. He’d heard some of the older folk say she looked just like Marin had at that age. Berowyn had been married once before—to one of Jina Lewin’s sons—but her husband and the child they’d made had died in the sickness that swept through the Theren only two years later. Though she was the heir to her mother’s property, and still a lovely woman, with long dark hair, large dark eyes and a slender body, Berowyn had never remarried.

Rand smiled to see her. She’d always been kind to him. “Hello, Berowyn. You’re looking well, as ever.”

“I wish I could say the same of you, Rand. You’ve seen things. I can tell,” she said in her soft voice, smiling wanly.

“We’ve all seen things we didn’t want to see. And felt things we didn’t want to feel. But we’re Theren folk. We’ll keep going,” he said stubbornly. Berowyn, Bode and Tief all nodded along to his words. They echoed a common refrain in these parts. One that he liked to think went all the way back to Manetheren, of which these lands had once been part.

“For your part, you’ll need to go to the inn,” Berowyn said. “My mother sent me to find you. They can’t continue the meeting without you.”

Bode gaped, and Rand wasn’t sure his own expression was any more composed. “Why not?” the Cauthon girl asked.

“Apparently Moiraine Sedai can’t speak for the Shienaran soldiers, or the Aiel warriors. They need Rand for that.” Berowyn eyed him speculatively as she spoke. “She tried to, but Tam al’Thor challenged her on it and she was forced to admit they would only do what she asked if Rand didn’t contradict her. I can tell you right now, she wasn’t pleased with Tam questioning her. Not one bit. I don’t think Lady Faile was either.”

Rand was unable to keep the grin from spreading across his face. He wasn’t surprised that Moiraine had invited herself to the meeting of the village elders—the thought of going himself had never even occurred—but Zarine’s presence irritated him a little. Only a little though. Nowhere near enough to shake the burst of confidence he felt at knowing Tam had his back in the fight against the Aes Sedai.

“Well you certainly look pleased with yourself,” Bode said tartly.

“Normally I would disapprove of speaking to an Aes Sedai in that manner, but after what happened to my baby sister I have to confess I was silently cheering Tam on,” said Berowyn.

He’d probably need to talk to her about that, if Marin hadn’t already. But later. “Well I suppose I shouldn’t keep them waiting,” he said.

“Certainly not,” Berowyn agreed.

Rand didn’t need to look around to know that Uno would be loitering nearby, but he did anyway, and raised his voice, too. “Uno. Urien. Come with me please.” The Aiel leader was crouching against the wall of Alsbet Luhhan’s house, but he rose to his feet at Rand’s call. Trying not to notice the way Bode and Tief—and many of the other gathered Emond’s Fielders—stared at him, Rand strode off with Berowyn at his side, and Uno and Urien hurrying to catch up. The two fighters eyed each other suspiciously, one in plate and mail, the other in light brown and grey clothes— _ cadin’sor _ , the Aiel called them—but they fell in at either side of the Theren pair.

Two Warders guarded the front door of the Winespring Inn. Lan gave Rand a short nod when he drew near, and Ihvon gave him a hard stare. He returned both before pushing the door open and marching inside.


	49. Hunter of Trollocs

CHAPTER 46: Hunter of Trollocs

Remnants of the early-morning rain still dripped from the leaves of the apple trees, and a purple finch hopped along a limb where fruit was forming that would not be harvested this year. The sun was well up, but hidden behind thick grey clouds. Seated cross-legged on the ground, Perrin unconsciously tested his bowstring; the tightly wrapped, waxed cords had a tendency to go slack in wet weather. The storm Moiraine had called up to hide them from pursuit the night of the rescue had surprised him with its ferocity, and beating rains had come three more times in the six days since. He believed it was six days. He had not really thought since that night, only drifted as events took him, reacting to what presented itself. The flat of his axe blade dug into his side, but he hardly noticed.

Low, grassy mounds marked generations of Aybaras buried here. The oldest among the carved wooden headpieces, cracked and barely legible, bore dates nearly three hundred years old, over graves indistinguishable from undisturbed ground. It was the mounds smoothed by rains but barely covered by grass that stabbed him. Generations of Aybaras buried here, but surely never fifteen at one time. Aunt Neain over by Uncle Carlin’s older grave, with their two children beside her. Great Aunt Ealsin in the row with Uncle Eward and Aunt Magde and their three children. May had been pregnant when he left; her husband and child were with her now, down in the earth, along with Toren and Emi. The long row with his mother and his father; Adora and Deselle and little Paet. A long row of mounds with bare, wet earth still showing through the grass. He counted the arrows remaining in his quiver by touch. Seventeen. Too many had been damaged, worth recovering only for the steel arrowheads. No time to make his own; he would have to see the fletcher in Emond’s Field soon. Buel Dowtry made good arrows, even better than Tam.

A faint rustle behind his back made him sniff the air. “What is it, Dannil?” he said without looking around.

There was a catch of breath, a moment of startled surprise, before Dannil Lewin said, “The Lady is here, Perrin. With Rand.” None of them had gotten used to him knowing who was who before he saw them, or in the dark, but he no longer really cared what they found strange.

He frowned over his shoulder. Dannil looked leaner than he had; farmers could only feed so many at once, and food had been feast or famine as the hunting went. Mostly famine. “The Lady?”

“The Lady Faile. And Lord Luc, too. They came from Emond’s Field.”

Perrin rose smoothly, taking long strides that made Dannil hurry to keep up. He managed not to look at the house. The charred timbers and sooty chimneys that had been the house where he grew up. He did scan the trees for his lookouts, those nearest the farm. Close to the Waterwood as it was, the land held plenty of tall oak and hemlock, and good-sized ash and bay. Thick foliage hid the lads well—drab farm clothes made for good hiding—so even he had difficulty picking them out. He would have to talk with those farther out; they were supposed to see that no-one came close without a warning. Even Rand and Zarine and this Luc.

The camp, in a large thicket where he had once pretended to be in a far wilderness, was a rough place among the undergrowth, with blankets strung between trees to make shelters, and more scattered on the ground between the small cook fires. The branches dripped here, too. Most of the nearly fifty men in the camp, all young, were unshaven, either in imitation of Perrin or because it was unpleasant shaving in cold water. They were good hunters—he had sent home any who were not—but unaccustomed to more than a night or two outdoors at a time. And not used to what he had them doing, either.

Right then they were standing around gaping at Zarine and Luc, and only four or five had longbow in hand. The rest of the bows lay with the bedding, and the quivers, too, more often than not. Luc stood idly flipping the reins of a tall black stallion, the very pose of indolent, red-coated arrogance, cold blue eyes ignoring the men around him. The man’s smell stood out among the others, cold and separate, too, almost as if he had nothing in common with the men around him, not even humanity.

Rand’s had brought an entourage, of course, though a smaller one than usual, only half a dozen Shienarans and an equal number of Aiel, with Anna and Hurin for company. He and Hurin had their heads together, whispering while darting the occasional glance Luc’s way. Rand wore black today, rather than his favoured red, perhaps in anticipation of the need for stealth.

Anna and Zarine smiled to see Perrin, but it was the latter who came hurrying to meet him, her narrow divided skirts making a soft whisk-whisk as grey silk brushed silk. She smelled faintly of sweet herbal soap, and of herself. “Master Weyland said we might find you here.”

He meant to demand what she was doing there, but found himself putting his arms around her and saying into her hair, “It’s good to see you. I have missed you.”

She pushed back enough to look up at him. “You look tired.”

He ignored that; he had no time to be tired. “You got everyone safely to Emond’s Field?”

“They are at the Winespring Inn.” She grinned suddenly. “Master al’Caar found an old halberd and says if the Whitecloaks want them, they will have to go through him. Everyone’s in the village now, Perrin. Maigan and Alanna, the Warders. And Loial. He certainly created a sensation. Even more than Bain and Chiad.” The grin faded into a frown. “He asked me to deliver a message to you. Alanna vanished twice without a word, once alone. Loial said Ihvon seemed surprised to find her gone. He said I wasn’t to let anyone else know.” She studied his face. “What does it mean, Perrin?”

“Nothing, maybe. Just that I can’t be sure I can trust her. You say Bain and Chiad are in Emond’s Field? I suppose that means he knows about them.” He jerked his head toward Luc. A few of the men had approached him, asking diffident questions, and he was answering with a condescending smile.

“They came with us,” she said slowly. “I do not think they have a very high opinion of your sentries. Perrin, why don’t you want Luc to know about the Aiel?”

“I’ve talked to a number of people who were burned out.” Luc was too far to overhear, but he held his voice low. “Counting Flann Lewin’s place, Luc was at five on the day they were attacked, or the day before.”

“Perrin, the man’s an arrogant fool in some ways—I hear he’s hinted at a claim to one of the Borderland thrones, for all he told us he’s from Murandy—but you cannot really believe he is a Darkfriend. He gave some very good advice in Emond’s Field. When I said everyone was there, I meant everyone.” She shook her dark head wonderingly. “Hundreds and hundreds of people have come in from north and south, from every direction, with their cattle and their sheep, all talking of Perrin Goldeneyes’ warnings. Your little village is preparing to defend itself if need be, and Luc has been everywhere the last days.”

“Perrin who?” he gasped, wincing. Trying to change the subject, he said, “From the south? But this is as far south as I’ve gone. I haven’t talked to a farmer more than a mile below the Winespring Water.”

Zarine tugged at his beard with a laugh. “News spreads, my fine general. I think half of them expect you to form them into an army and chase the Trollocs all the way back to the Great Blight. There will be stories about you in the Theren for the next thousand years. Perrin Goldeneyes, hunter of Trollocs.”

“Light!” he muttered.

Hunter of Trollocs. There had been little so far to justify that. Two days after freeing Mistress Luhhan and the others, they had come on the still-smoking ruins of a farmhouse, he and the fifteen Theren lads with him then. Gaul had caught up to them earlier, and never mind that he was on foot and they had been galloping through the rank-soaked night not long before. After burying what they found at the farmhouse in its ashes, it proved easy enough to follow the Trollocs, between Gaul’s tracking and his own nose. The sharp fetid stink of the Trollocs had not had time to fade away, not to him. Some of the lads had grown hesitant when they realized he meant what he had said about hunting Trollocs. If they had had to go very far, he suspected most would have drifted away when no-one was looking, but the trail led to a thicket no more than three miles off. The Trollocs had not bothered with sentries— they had no Myrddraal with them to overawe their laziness—and the Theren men knew how to stalk silently. Thirty-two Trollocs died, many in their filthy blankets, pierced through with arrows before they could raise a howl, much less sword or axe. Dannil and Ban and the others had been ready to celebrate a great triumph—until they found what was in the Trollocs’ big iron cookpot sitting in the ashes of the fire. Most dashed away to throw up, and more than one wept openly. Perrin dug the grave himself. Only one: there was no way to tell what had belonged to whom. Cold as he felt inside, he was not sure he could have stood it himself if there had been.

Late the next day no-one hesitated when he picked up another fetid trail, though a few mutters wondered what he was following, until Gaul found the tracks of hooves and boots too big for men. Another thicket, close to the Waterwood, held forty-one Trollocs and a Fade, with sentries set, though most snored at their posts. It would have made no difference had they all been awake. Gaul killed those that were, sliding through the trees like a shadow, and the Theren men were nearly thirty themselves by then. Besides, those who had not seen the cookpot had heard of it; they shouted as they shot, with a satisfaction not much less savage than the guttural Trolloc howls. The black-garbed Myrddraal had been last to die, a porcupine quilled with arrows. No one cared to recover a shaft from that, even after it finally stopped thrashing.

That evening the second rain came, hours of drenching downpour with a sky full of roiling black clouds and stabbing lightning. Perrin had not smelled Trolloc scent since, and the ground had been washed clean of tracks. Most of their time had been spent avoiding Whitecloak patrols, which everyone said were more numerous than in the past. The farmers Perrin had spoken to said the patrols seemed more interested in finding their prisoners again and those who had broken them free than in looking for Trollocs.

Quite a few of the men had gathered around Luc now. He was tall enough for his red-gold hair to show above their darker heads. He seemed to be talking, and they listening. And nodding.

Rand watched it all from the side, standing taller than any save the Aiel, his already broad chest made broader still by the steel breastplate buckled over it. He had his arms folded and a stern look on his handsome face. Perrin wondered if his friend realised how imposing a figure he cast, or cared how much the changes in him made people who had known him for years walk with sudden wariness around him. He didn’t look particularly bothered that none of the Theren lads had approached him, even the ones who’d thought Luc someone they could speak to freely.

Perrin indicated the Hunter with a jerk of his bearded chin. “Let’s see what he has to say,” he said grimly.

The Theren men gave way before Zarine and him with only a little prodding. They were all intent on the red-coated lord, who was indeed holding forth.

“... so the village is quite secure, now. Plenty of people gathered together to defend it. I must say I enjoy sleeping under a roof when I can. Mistress al’Vere, at the inn, provides a tasty meal. Her bread is among the best I have ever eaten. There truly is nothing like fresh-baked bread and fresh-churned butter, and putting your feet up of an evening with a fine mug of wine, or some good brown ale.”

“Lord Luc was saying we should go to Emond’s Field, Perrin,” Kenley Ahan said, scrubbing his reddened nose with the back of a grimy hand. He was not the only one who had been unable to wash as often as he would like, and not the only one coming down with a cold, either.

Luc smiled at Perrin much the way he would have at a dog he expected to see do a trick. “The village is quite secure, but there is always a need for more strong backs.”

“We are hunting Trollocs,” Perrin said coolly. “Not everyone has left their farms yet, and every band we find and kill means farms not burned and more people with a chance to reach safety.”

Wil al’Seen barked a laugh. He was not so pretty with a red puffy nose and a spotty, six-day growth of beard. “We’ve not smelled a Trolloc in days. Be reasonable, Perrin. Maybe we’ve killed them all already.” There were mutters of agreement.

“I do not mean to spread dissension.” Luc spread his hands guilelessly. “No doubt you have had many great successes beside those we have heard of. Hundreds of Trollocs killed, I expect. You may well have chased them all away. I can tell you, Emond’s Field is ready to give you all a hero’s welcome. The same must be true at Watch Hill for those who live up that way. Any Deven Riders?” Wil nodded, and Luc clapped him on the shoulder with a hollow good fellowship. “A hero’s welcome, without a doubt.”

“Anyone who wants to go home, can,” Perrin said in a level voice. Zarine directed a warning frown at him; this was no way to be a general. But he did not want anyone with him who did not want to be there. He did not want to be a general, for that matter. “Myself, I don’t think the job is done yet, but it is your choice.”

No-one took him up, though Wil at least looked ready to, but twenty more stared at the ground and scuffed their boots in last year’s leaves.

“Well,” Luc said casually, “if you have no Trollocs left to chase, perhaps it is time to turn your attentions to the Whitecloaks. They are not happy at you Theren folk deciding to defend yourselves. And I understand they meant to hang the lot of you in particular, as outlaws, for stealing their prisoners.”

Anxious frowns passed between a good many of the Theren lads.

It was then that Gaul came pushing through the crowd, followed close by Bain and Chiad. Not that the Aiel had to push, of course; the men cleared aside as soon as they realized who it was. Luc frowned at Gaul thoughtfully, perhaps disapprovingly; the Aielman stared back stony-faced. Wil and Dannil and the others brightened at sight of the Aiel; most still believed hundreds more were hiding somewhere in the thickets and forests. They never questioned why all those Aiel stayed hidden, and Perrin certainly never brought it up. If believing in a few hundred Aiel reinforcements helped them keep their courage, well and good.

“What did you find?” Perrin asked. Gaul had been gone since the day before; he could move as fast as a man on horseback, faster in woods, and he could see more.

“Trollocs,” Gaul replied as though reporting the presence of sheep, “moving up through this well-named Waterwood to the south. They number no more than thirty, and I believe they mean to make camp on the edge of the forest and strike tonight. There are men still holding to the soil to the south.” He gave a sudden, wolfish grin. “They did not see me. They will have no warning.”

Chiad leaned closer to Bain. “He moves well enough, for a Stone Dog,” she whispered loudly enough to be heard twenty feet off. “He makes little more noise than a lame bull.”

“Well, Wil?” Perrin said. “Do you want to go to Emond’s Field? You can shave, and maybe find a girl to kiss while these Trollocs have supper tonight.” Rand raised a brow at Perrin’s words but held his silence.

Wil flushed a dark red. “I will be wherever you are tonight, Aybara,” he said in a hard voice.

“Nobody means to go home if there are Trollocs still about, Perrin,” Kenley added.

Perrin looked around at the others, meeting only agreeing nods. “What of you, Luc? We would be pleased to have a lord and Hunter for the Horn with us. You could show us how it is done.”

Luc smiled fractionally, a gash on stone that never came close to those cold blue eyes. “I regret the defences of Emond’s Field still need me. I must see to protecting your people, should the Trollocs come there in greater numbers than thirty. Or the Children of the Light. My Lady Faile?” He held out hand to assist her in mounting, but she shook her head.

“I will remain with Perrin, Lord Luc.”

“A pity,” he murmured, shrugging as if to say there was no accounting for women’s taste. Tugging on his wolf-embroidered gauntlets, he swung into the black stallion’s saddle smoothly. “Good luck to you, Master Goldeneyes. I do hope you all have good luck.” With a half-bow to Faile—Zarine!—he whirled his tall horse showily and spurred him to a gallop that forced some of the men to leap out of his way.

Zarine frowned at Perrin in a manner that suggested a lecture on rudeness when they were alone. He listened to Luc’s horse until he could hear it no more, then turned to Gaul. “Can we get ahead of the Trollocs? Be waiting somewhere before they reach wherever they mean to stop?”

“The distances are right if we start now,” Gaul said. “They are moving in a straight line, and not hurrying. There is a Nightrunner with them. It will be easier surprising them in their blankets than facing them awake.” He meant that the Theren men might do better; there was no fear smell on him.

There was certainly fear smell on some of the others, yet no-one suggested that a confrontation with Trollocs up and alert, and a Myrddraal to boot, might not be the best plan. They broke camp as soon as he gave the order, dousing the fires and scattering the ashes, gathering their few pots and mounting their ill-assorted horses and ponies. With the sentries in—Perrin reminded himself to have that word with them—and Rand’s men, they numbered nearly eighty. Surely enough to ambush thirty Trollocs. Ban al’Seen and Dannil each still led half—it seemed the way to keep arguments down—with Bili al’Dai and Kenley and others each heading ten or so. Wil, too; he was not too bad a fellow usually, when he could keep his mind off the girls.

That could be said of a fair few men, come to think of it. “Nice of you to join us,” Perrin said flatly, when Rand rode Bela closer.

“I wasn’t expecting you to stay away for so long,” he responded with another raised brow. “We got worried about you.” At his other side, mounted on her Moonlight, Anna nodded agreement. At Rand’s other side.

“There are Trollocs rampaging through the Theren. What else is going to stop them? Lolling around with your girls?”

“No. Obviously not,” Rand said with an overly patient sigh. “But I don’t mean to scour every last bush for them either. Remember Tarcain Cut?”

“I remember it all too well. I remember a lot of people dying there.”

“Do you remember Nethara as well?” Rand snapped. “Do you remember how many died there? And how?”

“Obviously!” Perrin grated.

“Stop that! Both of you!” Anna demanded, sharing her glare between them. “You’re friends. Start acting like it.”

Zarine rode Swallow close beside Stepper, giving Anna a cool look as she did. “You truly do not trust him at all,” she said. When Rand and Anna frowned at her she added, “Lord Luc. You all think he is a Darkfriend.”

“I trust you and my bow and my axe,” Perrin told her. Her face looked sad and pleased at the same time, but it was the simple truth. He might have added Rand and Anna to that list. Well, Anna at least. Rand was what Rand was. But somehow he couldn’t bring himself to say it right then. From the looks on their faces, they both heard the omission.

For two hours Gaul led them south before turning into the Waterwood, a tangle of towering oak and pine and leatherleaf, bushy bay trees and cone-shaped redoil trees, tall round-topped ash and sweetberry and black willow, with thickets of vine-woven brush below. A thousand squirrels chittered on the branches, and thrushes and finches and redwings darted everywhere. Perrin smelled deer and rabbits, too, and foxes. Tiny streams abounded, and rush-bordered pools and ponds dotted the forest, often shaded but sometimes open, from less than ten paces across to a few almost fifty. The ground seemed sodden after all the rain it had received, squelching under the horses’ hooves.

Between a large, willow-ringed pond and a narrow rivulet a pace wide, perhaps two miles into the wood, Gaul halted. Here the Trollocs would come if they continued as they had been. The Aiel melted into the trees to make sure of that, and bring back warning of their approach.

Leaving Zarine and a dozen men to watch the horses, Perrin spread the others out in a narrow curve, a cup into which the Trollocs should march. After making certain each man was well hidden and knew what he was to do, he placed himself at the bottom of the cup, beside an oak with a trunk thicker than he was tall. Rand and Anna took trees to his left and right, with their bows in hand and arrows nocked. The Shienarans, of course, clustered around Rand.

Easing his axe in its belt loop, Perrin nocked an arrow and waited. A light breeze blew in his face, swelling and falling. He should be able to smell the Trollocs long before they came in sight. They should be coming right at him. Touching the axe again, he waited. Minutes passed. An hour. More. How long before the Shadowspawn appeared? Much longer in this damp and bowstrings would need to be changed.

The birds vanished a moment before the squirrels went silent. Perrin drew a deep breath, and frowned. Nothing. On that breeze he should surely be able to smell Trollocs as soon as the animals sensed them.

A vagrant gust brought him the putrid stink, like centuries-old sweat and rot. Whirling, he shouted, “They’re behind us! Rally to me! Theren to me!” Behind. The horses. “Faile!”

Screams and shouts erupted from every side, howls and savage cries. A ram-horned Trolloc leaped into the open twenty paces away, raising a long curved bow. Perrin drew fletchings to ear and fired in one smooth motion, reaching for another shaft as soon as his arrow cleared bow. His broadhead point took the Trolloc between its eyes; it bellowed once as it fell. And its arrow, the size of a small spear, took Perrin in the side like a hammerblow.

Gasping with shock, he hunched over, dropping bow and fresh arrow alike. Pain spread out in sheets from the black-fletched shaft; it quivered when he drew breath, and every quiver shot out new pain.

Two more Trollocs leaped over their dead companion, wolf snout and goat horns, black-mailed shapes half again as tall as Perrin and twice as broad. Baying, they rushed at him, curved swords upraised.

Off to his sides he heard the sounds of battle. “Protect the Lord Dr—” a Shienaran voice called, only to be cut off by Rand’s snapped, “Don’t use that name!” Steel clashed against steel as the Trollocs charged Perrin’s position.

Forcing himself upright, he gritted his teeth and snapped the thumb-thick arrow off short, pulled his axe free and rushed to meet them. Howling, he realized dimly. Howling with rage that filmed his eyes red. They towered over him, their armour all spikes at elbows and shoulders, but he swung his axe in a frenzy, as if trying to cut down a tree with every blow.  _ For Adora. For Deselle _ . “My mother!” he screamed. “Burn you! My mother!”

Abruptly he realized he was hacking at bloody shapes on the ground. Growling, he made himself stop, shaking with the effort as much as with the pain in his side. There was less shouting now. Fewer screams. Was anyone left but him? “Rally to me! Theren to me!”

Anna came, silent and grim-faced, an arrow nocked and half her quiver already emptied. She didn’t look at him at all, but kept her sharp-eyed attention on the woods around them. “Theren!” someone shouted frantically, off through those damp woods, and then another, “Theren!”

Three. Only three. “Faile!” he cried. “Oh, Light, Faile!”

A flicker of black flowing through the trees announced a Myrddraal before he could see it clearly, snakelike black armour down its chest, inky cloak hanging undisturbed by its running. As it came closer, it slowed to a sinuous, assured walk; it knew he was hurt, knew him for easy meat. Its pale-faced, eyeless stare stabbed him with fear. “Faile?” it said mockingly. Its voice made the name sound like burned leather crumbling. “Your Faile—was delicious.”

Roaring, Perrin hurled himself at it. A black-bladed sword turned his first stroke. And his second. His third. The thing’s slug-white face became fixed with concentration, but it moved like a viper, like lightning. For the moment he had it on the defensive. For the moment. Blood trickled down his side; his side burned like a forge-fire. He could not keep this up. And when his strength failed, that sword would find his heart. An arrow lanced out from behind to pierce the creature’s own heart but it barely staggered, and even that much only from the impact.

Perrin’s foot slipped in the mud churned up beneath his boots, the Fade’s blade drew back—and a blurring sword half-severed the eyeless head, so it fell over on one shoulder in a fountain of black blood. Stabbing blindly, the Myrddraal staggered forward, stumbling, refusing to die completely, still instinctively trying to kill.

Perrin scrambled out of its path, clutching his side.

“You’re hit,” Rand said curtly, his pale eyes flickering over Perrin’s wound. He ignored the faintly smoking blood on his sword. “Hurin!”

“I’m fine,” Perrin grated. Shaking himself, he raised his voice again. “Theren to me! For the love of the Light rally to me! Here! Rally! Here!”

“A fine fool, is it you mean?” Rand said. Perrin flinched. “Sit still and let them tend to that wound for the Light’s sake!”

His armsmen surrounded them protectively, while Hurin and Nangu plucked and prodded at Perrin, ignoring his growls. Neither Rand nor any of the Shienarans had taken a cut. A little armour went a long way.  _ Maybe I should have taken Rand’s example and gotten some of my own _ .

Perrin kept shouting despite their rebukes. He kept it up until familiar faces appeared, stumbling through the trees. Blood-streaked faces, often as not. Shocked, staring faces. Some men half-supported others, and some had lost their bows. The Aiel were among them, apparently unhurt except that Gaul limped slightly.

“They did not come as we expected” was all the Aielman said. The night was colder than we expected. There was more rain than we expected. That was how he said it.

Zarine seemed to materialize with the horses. With half the horses, including Stepper and Swallow, and nine of the twelve men he had left with her. A scrape marred one cheek, but she was alive. He tried to hug her, but she pushed his arms away, muttering angrily over the broken-off arrow even while she gently pulled his coat away from the thick shaft in an effort to examine where it had gone in.

Perrin studied the men around him. They had stopped coming now, yet there were faces missing. Kenley Ahan. Bili al’Dai. Teven Marwin. He made himself name the missing, made himself count them. Twenty-seven. Twenty-seven not there. “Did you bring all the wounded?” he asked dully. “Is anybody left out there?” Zarine’s hand trembled on his side; her expression as she frowned at his wound was a blend of worry and fury. She had a right to be angry. He should never have gotten her into this.

“Only the dead,” Ban al’Seen, Elisa’s eldest son, said in a voice as leaden as his face. His younger brother was among the missing. Among the dead.

Wil looked to be frowning at something just out of sight. “I saw Kenley,” he said. “His head was in the crook of an oak, but the rest of him was down at the foot. I saw him. His cold won’t bother him now.” He sneezed, and looked startled.

Perrin sighed heavily, and wished he had not; pain shooting up his side clenched his teeth. Zarine, a green-and-gold silk scarf wadded in her hand, was trying to pull his shirt out of his breeches. He pushed her hands away despite her scowl; there was no time for tending wounds now. “Wounded on the horses,” he said when he could speak. “Uno, will they attack us?” The forest seemed too still.

Uno looked to Rand instead of answering. “Will they?” Rand repeated mildly, while he belatedly wiped his sword on a handful of leaves.

The eye Uno fixed on Perrin was without rancour but unapologetic. Plainly he didn’t like to hear anyone but Rand giving orders. “Maybe. Maybe not. Without a flaming Halfman to put some fear up their arses, the Trollocs’d rather find a farm to savage than fight someone who might fight back. Best get every one of these farmboy’s who’re still fit enough to bloody stand upright to show his bow, out plain, where even some fucker with less eyes than me could see it. Then maybe the Trollocs’ll decide the price is too high for the fun of killing them.”

Perrin shivered. If the Trollocs did attack, they would have as much fun as a dance at Sunday. Rand and those who’d come with him were the only ones really ready to fight back. And Zarine; her dark eyes shone with fury. He had to get her to safety.

Rand had sheathed his sword and was doing his statue impression again. “Have you been keeping the raven population down, Perrin?” he asked.

“Yes, of course. But you can never account for all of those light-forsaken things.”

He grunted. “Maybe. Hurin, do you smell anything strange around these parts?”

The grey-haired sniffer nodded. “Lots, Lord Rand, but I’m guessing you don’t mean the Shadowspawn. Lord Luc’s been through these parts, I can tell you that much. And something else, something we followed all the way from Fal Dara to Falme.”

Rand’s was far from the only mouth to tighten at that news. Perrin found himself grinding his teeth. He knew Fain was with the Whitecloaks, but somehow hearing that the man had passed so close to his own farm made him feel ill.

Rand had other things on his mind though. “Can you tell how recently they passed through?”

Hurin made a short, apologetic bow. “I’m afraid not. Just that they were here recently enough for the scent not to have faded yet.” Neither of them paid any attention to the confused way Dannil and the rest were listening to their talk. Perrin knew what they meant, but to the others it must have sounded as though Rand and Hurin were mad.

“I suppose it wouldn’t have made sense anyway,” Rand muttered. “No horse could move fast enough for him to have set this up.”

“Do you suspect treachery, Rand al’Thor?” asked Urien. Other than Bain and Chiad, he was the only Aiel who’d come with Rand that Perrin knew the name of, though he did recognise one of the other two Maidens, a tall, yellow-haired woman they’d run into back at Stedding Tsofu.

Rand sighed. “Maybe. I’m not sure yet.”

Urien looked to the other Aiel man who’d come with him, a handsome six-footer. Perrin supposed that that might be considered short for an Aiel. “Airc reported a watcher in the trees but we took no action against them, for they were human and looked like one of the Theren clan.” A murmur went through the Theren lads at that news, startled now, but with a hint of anger underneath.

“A watcher? Where are they now?” Rand said slowly. “Could you bring them to me? Alive, that is.”

Urien nodded. “It will be done.” He merely looked at Airc, but the man took off at a sprint, with another Maiden, a lanky, somewhat plain looking woman, hot on his heels.

The rest of them waited tensely. The silence and the inactivity made it harder for Perrin to ignore the throbbing pain in his side. Small groans and hisses issued from those Thereners nursing wounds, which was to say most of them.

When Airc finally returned he was carrying a Theren longbow in one hand as though it were a trophy. The Maiden was pushing a raggedly dressed figure in front of her, using the arm she had bent behind her prisoner’s back to steer them around. It was only when the prisoner tossed their head angrily, and he saw the way their braid waved, that Perrin realised it was a woman.

“Hey! Let her go!” he called.

The Maiden did no more than glance at him but there was no alarm in her clear, grey eyes.

“This is the watcher?” Rand asked. He sounded as discomfited as Perrin felt over seeing a Theren woman manhandled like that, but he didn’t call off the Maiden like Perrin would have expected.

“She is, Rand al’Thor. She was fleeing when we caught her,” said the Maiden with a smile. “But she did not run fast enough.”

Rand grunted. “Well. Good work then, Renay,” he said stiffly. “And you, Airc. We’ll—” He cut off suddenly when the woman looked at him. A frown spread across his brow and he waved a finger slowly in the air between them. “I know you. Sara ... something. Right? From up Watch Hill way.”

“Aythes,” said Saml Torfinn, who was a distant cousin of the Emond’s Field Torfinns. “Sara Aythes. I suppose if anyone could be a Darkfriend it would be her.”

The woman—or girl perhaps, she certainly didn’t look old, despite her unkempt appearance—glared at Saml defiantly. “Based on what? Not wanting to be friends with you, Saml Torfinn?”

“That’s why I remember you,” Rand was saying, but low, as if talking to himself. “All that talk about you avoiding people, preferring the woods. It stuck in my mind.”

“Well if she’s not a Darkfriend then you should let her go,” Perrin persisted.

“She watched her clan do battle and did not take up the spear, though she was armed,” Urien said. By his tone you’d think he was pronouncing sentence on a criminal. “She is the watcher we were tasked to apprehend, Perrin Aybara. Do not interfere.”

“Aybara?” Sara said in surprise. Her eyes narrowed as she studied Perrin. “Those are a wolf’s eyes.”

“You mind your business,” said Anna firmly.

For a wonder, this Sara did just that. “I suppose ... I suppose if I should turn her over to anyone it should be her kin,” she said. “She might not want to go though.”

Perrin’s heart started racing. “Who? Turn who over?”

Sara cocked her head at him warily, like a bird sighting a distant wolf and wondering if they should take wing. “The Aybara girl. The one back at my camp.”

Perrin was almost upon her before he could stop himself. His hands shook from the desire to seize Sara by the collar and demand she comply. “Take me to her,” he said instead, with as much politeness as he could muster. “Please.”


	50. A Survivor

CHAPTER 47: A Survivor

The Aiel released Sara but did not return her bow to her, despite her protestations. Perrin would have given her his boots, stocking and the shirt off his back if it would have hurried her up. It was Rand that put an end to the argument.

“We need to move quickly. Uno. She can ride with you. Keep your eye on her.”

Sara took one look at Uno’s scarred face with that glaring red eye painted over his patch, and immediately lost much of the colour the sun had put in her cheeks. The Maidens helped haul her onto Uno’s horse and there she sat, stiff and afraid, in front of the Shienaran soldier. Perrin could have told her that Uno would never hurt her—the Shienarans were as firm on that principle as any Theren man—but what she didn’t know would ensure her cooperation.

Perrin tried to put Zarine up on Swallow, but she stopped him. “The wounded, you said,” she told him softly. “Remember?”

To his disgust, she insisted he ride Stepper. He expected the others to protest, after he had brought them to disaster, but no-one did. There were just enough horses for those who could not walk, and those unable to walk far—grudgingly he admitted that he was one of the latter—so he ended up in his saddle. Half the other riders had to cling to theirs. He sat upright, gritting his teeth to do it.

Sara aside, those who walked or stumbled, and some who rode, clutched their bows as if they meant salvation. Perrin carried one, too, and so did Faile, though he doubted she could even draw a Theren longbow. It was appearance that counted now; illusion that might see them safe. The Aiel looked unchanged as they glided ahead, spears stuck through the harness of the bow cases on their backs, horn bows in hand and ready. The Shienarans marched doggedly at the rear. Their armour slowed them down now that they were afoot, and made navigating the Waterwood a tricky business. The rest, including himself, were a ragbag remnant, nothing like the band he had led here, so confident and full of his own pride. Yet illusion worked as well as reality. For the first mile through the tangle, vagrant breezes brought him Trolloc stink, the scent of Trollocs shadowing, stalking. Then the stench slowly faded and vanished as the Trollocs fell behind, deluded by a mirage.

Zarine walked beside Stepper, one hand on Perrin’s leg as though she meant to hold him up. Now and then she looked up at him, smiling encouragingly, but with worry creasing her forehead. He smiled back as best he could, trying to make her think he was alright. Twenty-seven. He could not stop the names from running through his head. Colly Garren and Jared Aydaer, Dael al’Taron and Ren Chandin. Twenty-seven Theren folk he had killed with his stupidity. Twenty-seven.

While Uno loomed behind her and steered their horse, Sara pointed the way towards this camp she claimed to have and the survivor she claimed awaited them there. Perrin nursed that thought as carefully as he did the arrow in his side. Touching it at all brought a stab of pain. What if she was lying? The woman seemed to be something of an outcast among the Watch Hill folk. He had to assume there was a reason for that.

She urged Uno to dismount before a particularly tangled grove that surrounded what looked to a large pond. Perrin would have gone around it ordinarily, but Sara claimed that the horses and those who rode them would have to wait here while the rest went in on foot.

“Your camp is inside?” Rand asked. She nodded curtly by way of response.

His eyes flickered over Perrin and the rest. “I’ll go. You and the others will have to wait here, Uno. I don’t like the look of that ground. Anna, Hurin, back me up.” He gave no orders to the Aiel, but they gathered around him anyway.

“I’m coming, too,” Perrin grated as he climbed down from Stepper’s back. Zarine tried to stop him but even weakened as he was he was too heavy for her to budge.

“I imagined you would,” Rand sighed. “Dannil, best keep an eye on him.”

Zarine switched from trying to push Perrin back into the saddle to supporting his weight across her shoulders so quickly you’d have thought it only a dream that she’d been trying to do the former. Dannil offered Perrin his other shoulder and got a frown for his trouble.  _ I’m not a bloody invalid. It’s just one little arrow _ . Even so, he had to pick his way carefully over the sodden, root-tangled ground than Sara trailblazed a path through.

Aiel hid their feelings well but Perrin could smell their uneasiness. And it was uneasiness, rather than fear. He’d smelled it off Gaul and the Maidens back on the ship, too. He was sure it was because of the water. The alarm was warranted in this case, for many of the ponds here in the Waterwood could be as deep as any lake and it was hard to tell without jumping in which ones were shallow enough to walk through and which ones could swallow a man whole. Perrin had swum in those ponds many times when he was younger. Almost everyone in the Theren did. He doubted any of the Aiel could swim though. If they fell in someone might have to jump in after them.

There was indeed a camp within that grove, on a section of solid land nestled at the foot of three tall trees. It was a tidy little place, with a cookfire and numerous pots, a thick pile of blankets, and various personal belongings strewn about. A wooden lean-to shielded it all from the rain. It looked well lived in, almost a home. Perrin’s eyes were drawn to Sara. She looked to be in her early twenties and in good health. She’d have been pretty, too, if she cleaned herself up a bit.  _ How long has she been living here? Has she no kin, no-one to take her in? _ It was unheard of for anyone in the Theren to live rough like this. Even if she didn’t have any relatives, surely there was someone in need of a young wife. And there was never any shortage of work to do.

Concern for the stranger was instantly erased however, when a figure stirred among the piled blankets under the lean-to.

Rand strode over while Urien kept a watchful eye on Sara. At the sound of Rand’s heavy footsteps, a muffled, female voice called out, “Who’s there?”

Perrin’s heart nearly stopped. He couldn’t place the voice but she sounded scared. “Don’t be afraid, we’re friends,” he said in a choked voice.

Rand crouched down by the blankets and twitched them aside. He smiled kindly. “Hey there. I’m glad to see you alive. We thought we’d lost you.”

“Rand? You’re back. Is ... Is Perrin with you?”

He reached down and hauled her up into a sitting position ... Perrin beheld the pale and sickly face of his cousin, Emi. It wasn’t Adora. It wasn’t Deselle. But Light, it was still a welcome miracle. “Hello, Emi. Thank the Light you’re okay,” he choked.

“Hi there. So I’m not the only one then,” she said querulously. Her dress was ripped and torn in several places, her hair was loose and unwashed, and she looked like she’d come down with a fever, but she was still the loveliest thing he’d seen in an Age.

Anna grinned. “Emi! You’re alive! But how?”

“I found her not far from the ruins of her farm, trying to crawl through the woods,” said Sara. “I brought her here to rest and ...” She trailed off into an uncomfortable silence.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Perrin told her earnestly.

Rand wore a small frown. “It’s been weeks since the attack. Why haven’t you told anyone she’s here? Everyone thinks you’re dead, Emi.”

She swallowed noisily before speaking. “I should be. Everyone else is. They—” She squeezed her eyes shut as though in pain.

“We know. The Trollocs,” Rand said solemnly, resting his hand on her narrow shoulder.

But Emi shook her head in fierce denial. “No, no! That’s why I can’t leave, you see. The Whitecloaks rule here now, that’s what Sara says. If I leave they’ll catch me, and kill me just like they did my family.”

Perrin felt as though there was a noose tightening around his neck. It was hard to breath, hard to think. A red haze was closing in around his vision.

“You’re saying it wasn’t Trollocs that raided the Aybara place? It was the Whitecloaks?” Rand’s voice was tight, and his free hand gripped the hilt of his sword.

Emi nodded. “Master Fain brought them. He said some terrible, ridiculous things about Perrin, and Uncle Con laughed at him and then ... and then ...”

“Fain.” The name was a curse, a low and ugly thing, dragged hissing from Perrin’s strangled throat. He could barely think for the murderous rage that rose up in him.  _ My mother. My sisters. My little brother ...  _ “Faaiinn!” Zarine tried to press comfort into his flesh but Perrin was beyond feeling such things just then. He was only dimly aware of the worried look on her face.

“Burn me,” Dannil swore softly.

“He said he’d do it,” Rand muttered bitterly. “He said he would. We should have killed him while he was in that damned dungeon.”

“He’ll pay. We’ll make sure he pays,” said Anna in an iron-toned voice he’d never heard from her before. “But that is a fight for another day. The Whitecloaks don’t rule the Theren, Emi. We’re gathering folk at Emond’s Field to make that plain to them. The Cauthons, Candwins and Luhhans are already there. Those are the other families they went after, if you haven’t heard, staying out here. We freed them. You should come back with us. And you, too, Sara. Another archer is always welcome at times like these.”

Sara wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I like it out here. I think I’ll stay.”

“No you won’t,” Rand said quietly.

“Are you going to set your one-eyed friend on me?” Sara asked, her jaw set stubbornly.

“No. And he wouldn’t hurt you even if I asked him to. Which I wouldn’t. You’ll come because you helped Emi. And because there are others like her who need you. Your people, whether you like them or not. Our people.” Rand stood. “It wasn’t a threat. It was just a prediction.”

Sara hunched her shoulders, still not meeting anyone’s eyes, but she didn’t argue against him.

Emi was worrying at her lip in a way that made Perrin ill. She’d always been such a cheerful, energetic girl. Seeing her in such a state ...  _ How much hate can be piled atop hate before it buries a man under it? _

“I-I can’t. I can’t go ... I ...”

Rand interrupted Emi’s stuttering with a gentleness that would have surprised anyone who knew what he was. “It’s alright, Emi. We’ll protect you from them. Whatever it takes. I promise.”

“No, I ... I can’t go. Y-you see, I-I, t-that is—” She shook her head in sudden fury at her inability to get the words out. Seizing the blankets that were piled about her legs, Emi threw them aside. Perrin stared. The blankets hadn’t been piled about her legs at all. Or not all of them at least, just the upper parts. Below the knee, there was only a pair of bandaged stumps, the flesh above them angry and red. The muscles around his eyes twitched.  _ Buried in hate _ .

Rand crouched down again and put his hand back on her shoulder. “Light. You poor girl. What happened?”

Now that she had shown them her loss, a sudden calm came over Emi. “The roof fell on me. I was inside with Great Aunt Ealsin when they set the fire. She said we had to stay, that we needed to wait until the Whitecloaks left so they’d think us dead. It was so hot and we could barely breathe, but she insisted. But the Whitecloaks didn’t leave. And then the roof came down. Most of it fell on her. One of the beams fell on me and ...” She waved a hand at the stumps of her legs, not looking at them herself. “I thought I would burn. But everything fell the other way and then I was just lying on the warm ground. I thought the Whitecloaks would come for me and ... But they didn’t. They just left me lying there.”

Zarine reluctantly gave over rubbing at the bunched muscles of Perrin’s arm—he couldn’t seem to make them relax anymore—and instead went to have a quiet word with Sara. He heard it all, of course, even over the throbbing of his own pulse.

“Did they come clean off or did you have to amputate? What have you treated the wounds with?”

Sara spoke reluctantly, and in a low voice, one that Emi wasn’t meant to hear, but she spoke nonetheless. “They were gone when I found her, just stumps. Stubborn little thing hadn’t given up though. Kept crawling. Stumps weren’t even bleeding. Burnt, you see. The beam.”

Zarine winced. “And your treatment?”

Sara frowned. “I’m no Wisdom, but I know how to clean a wound. I’ve had a few of my own.”

“These are no mere cuts,” Zarine said grimly. “I think we should hurry back to Emond’s Field. There is someone there that both of the Aybaras have need of.”

Rand was speaking to Emi. “Is that what you were worried about? Did you think you couldn’t come because we’d have to carry you? Don’t be silly. Skinny as you are, Perrin could probably fit you in his pocket. We’ll have you propped up by the fire ... ah, near the library at the Winespring Inn by this time tomorrow.”

“I’m not skinny. You’re just fat,” Emi said, with a hint of her earlier spirit. Rand grinned.

“We should go,” said Perrin, then cleared his throat. “This place isn’t safe,” he continued in a more normal voice. “Not anymore. The Trollocs will be able to follow the trail we’ve left pretty easily, and Emi needs to meet Moiraine. We should go.”

Rand nodded agreement. “Would you like Sara to carry you or should I?” he asked Emi.

Perrin’s cousin looked at the woodswoman with uncertainty. “Are you coming with us, Sara? I’d miss you if you didn’t ...”

Sara hunched her shoulders. “I suppose I should see you back to your people.”

“Then I’d rather Sara helped me,” Emi decided.

“Sounds like Uno’s walking the rest of the way,” said Rand. “Pack what you need to pack. We leave as soon as possible.”

Emi was the target of a great many stares when they brought her out of the grove. Even wrapped in blankets and clinging to Sara it was hard not to notice the missing legs. The sight infuriated many of the Thereners, and that was even before they learned what Perrin had learned. They’d hear about Fain soon enough, Dannil would see to that if no-one else did. Perrin hauled himself back into Stepper’s saddle, not even minding Zarine’s help. He’d need to get well, and soon. There was a skinny little Murandian Darkfriend that he needed to tear to pieces.

They took the most direct route back out of the Waterwood from there, breaking clear sometime in the late afternoon. It was hard to tell exactly how late with the sky still blanketed in grey and everything blandly shadowed. High-grass pasture dotted with trees stretched in front of them, and some scattered sheep, and a few farmhouses in the distance. No smoke rose from any of the chimneys; if there was anyone in those houses, something hot would have been cooking in the fireplace. The nearest rising smoke plume looked five miles off at least.

“We should bloody well find a farm for the night,” Uno said. “Some place under cover in case it flaming rains again. A fucking fire and some grub would go a long way, too.” He looked at the Theren men and added, “Water and bandages.”

Perrin only nodded. The Shienaran was better than he at knowing the right thing to do. Old Bili Congar with his head full of ale was probably better. He just let Stepper follow the rest of their sad herd.

Before they had gone much beyond a mile, a faint thread of music caught Perrin’s ear, fiddles and flutes playing merry tunes. At first he thought he was dreaming, but then the others heard, too, exchanging incredulous looks, then relieved grins. Music meant people, and happy people by the sound, someone celebrating. That anyone might have something to celebrate was enough to pick their feet up somewhat.


	51. Among the Tuatha'an

CHAPTER 48: Among the  _ Tuatha’an _

A gathering of wagons came in sight, a little off to the south, like small houses on wheels, tall wooden boxes painted and lacquered in violent shades of red and blue and green and yellow, all standing in a large, rough circle around a few broad-limbed oak trees. The music came from there. Perrin had heard there were Tinkers, Travelling People, in the Theren, but he had not seen them until now. Hobbled horses cropped the long grass nearby.

“I will sleep elsewhere,” Gaul said stiffly when he saw Perrin meant to go to the wagons, and loped away without another word.

Bain and Chiad spoke softly yet urgently to Zarine. Perrin caught enough to know they were trying to convince her to spend the night with them in some snug thicket and not with “the Lost Ones”. They sounded appalled at the idea of speaking to the Tinkers, much less eating or sleeping with them. Zarine’s hand tightened on his leg as she refused, quietly, firmly. The two Maidens frowned at each other, blue eyes meeting grey with a deep measure of concern, but before the Travelling People’s wagons came much closer, they trotted away after Gaul. They seemed to have recovered some of their spirits, though. Perrin heard Chiad suggesting they induce Gaul to play some game called Maidens Kiss. They were both laughing as they passed out of his earshot.

Urien and the others soon followed, though not before trying to persuade Rand to go with them. They wouldn’t answer when he asked what was wrong with staying with the Tinkers. Urien looked at Rand as though he’d asked him what was wrong with setting fire to yourself; he seemed at a loss as to how to answer such an absurd question.

Rand led the way into the Tinker camp, with his armsmen gathered around him. Perrin winced at the sight. That was no way to approach the  _ Tuatha’an _ .

Men and women were working in the camp, sewing, mending harness, cooking, washing clothes and children, levering a wagon up to replace a wheel. Other children ran playing, or danced to the tunes of half a dozen men playing fiddle or flute. From oldest to youngest, the Tinkers wore clothes even more colourful than their wagons, in eye-wrenching combinations that had to have been chosen blindly. No sane man would have worn anything near those hues, and not many women.

As the ragtag party approached the wagons, silence fell, people stopping where they were to watch with worried expressions, women clutching infants and children running to hide behind adults, peering around a leg or hiding their faces in skirts. The blood-soaked Thereners would have been bad enough, but the sight of Uno and his men made it even worse. A wiry man, grey-haired and short, stepped forward and bowed gravely, both hands pressed to his chest. He wore a bright blue, high-collared coat and baggy trousers of a green that almost seemed to glow tucked into kneeboots. “You are welcome to our fires. Do you know the song?”

For a moment, trying not to hunch around the arrow in him, Perrin could only stare. He knew this man, the  _ Mahdi _ , or Seeker, of this band.  _ What chance? _ he wondered.  _ Of all the Tinkers in the world, what chance it should be folk I know? _ Coincidences made him uneasy; when the Pattern produced coincidence, the Wheel seemed to be forcing events.  _ I’m beginning to sound like a bloody Aes Sedai. _ He could not manage the bow, but he remembered the ritual. “Your welcome warms my spirit, Raen, as your fires warm the flesh, but I do not know the song.” Zarine and Rand gave him startled looks, but no more than did the Theren men. Judging by the mutters he heard from Ban and Tell and others, he had just given them something else to talk about.

“Then we seek still,” the wiry man intoned. “As it was, so shall it be, if we but remember, seek, and find.” Grimacing, he surveyed the bloody faces confronting him, his eyes flinching away from the weapons. The Travelling People would not touch anything they considered a weapon. “You are welcome to our fires. There will be hot water, and bandages and poultices. You know my name,” he added, looking at Perrin searchingly. “Of course. Your eyes.”

Raen’s wife had come to his side as he spoke, a plump woman, grey-haired but smooth-cheeked, a head taller than her husband. Her red blouse and bright yellow skirt and green-fringed shawl jarred the eye, but she had a motherly manner. “Perrin Aybara!” she said. “I thought I knew your face. Is Elyas with you?” A short, demure looking woman in an eye-jarring combination of bright green skirts, a sunflower-yellow blouse and a sky blue bonnet, who trailed along behind Ila, gave a sudden start at her raised voice.

Perrin shook his head. “I have not seen him in a long time, Ila.”

“He leads a life of violence,” Raen said sadly. “As you do. A violent life is stained even if long.”

“Do not try to bring him to the Way of the Leaf standing here, Raen,” Ila said briskly, but not unkindly. “He is hurt. They all are.”

“What am I thinking of?” Raen muttered. Raising his voice, he called, “Come, people. Come and help. They are hurt. Come and help.”

Men and women gathered quickly, murmuring their sympathy as they helped injured men down from their horses, guiding men toward their wagons, carrying them when necessary. Wil and a few of the others looked concerned over being separated, but Perrin was not. Violence was the farthest thing from the  _ Tuatha’an _ . They would not raise a hand against anyone, even to defend their own lives. Perrin was still reluctant to be parted from Emi though. He needed to protect her, whether he was fit for the job or not. He stared longingly after her as she and Sara let themselves be led off by a gaggle of Tinker women.

Perrin found he had to accept Rand and Uno’s assistance to dismount. Climbing down sent jolts of pain radiating out from his side. “Raen,” he said, a touch breathless, “you shouldn’t be out here. We fought Trollocs not five miles from this spot. Take your people to Emond’s Field. They will be safe there.”

Raen hesitated—and seemed surprised at it—before shaking his head. “Even if I wished to, the people would not want it, Perrin. We try not to camp very close to even the smallest village, and not only because the villagers may falsely accuse us of stealing whatever they have lost or of trying to convince their children to find the Way. Where men have built ten houses together, there is the potential for violence. Since the Breaking the  _ Tuatha’an _ have known this. Safety lies in our wagons and in always moving, always seeking the song.” A plaintive expression came over his face. “Everywhere we hear news of violence, Perrin. Not just here in your Theren. There is a feel in the world of change, of destruction. Surely we must find the song soon. Else I do not believe it will ever be.” Rand grimaced at his words and took a sudden interest in unsaddling Stepper.

“You will find the song,” Perrin said quietly. Maybe they abhorred violence too much for a  _ ta’veren _ to overcome; maybe even a  _ ta’veren _ could not fight the Way of the Leaf. It had seemed attractive to him once, too. “I truly hope that you will.”

“What will be, will be,” Raen said. “All things die in their time. Perhaps even the song.” Ila put a comforting arm around her husband, though her eyes were as troubled as his.

Of course, on seeing Rand doing something so unlordly as tending to a horse, Nangu came rushing over to take the task away from Rand. Perrin didn’t know how Rand put up with that nonsense. And part of him worried that his friend was coming to enjoy it.

“It’s fine, Nangu. I’ve done much, much harder jobs,” Rand said exasperatedly.

But at the Shienaran’s, “You have more important things to do with your time, my Lord. Let me take care of that,” Rand stepped aside from Stepper. If he’d truly wanted to he could have made the man back down, in Perrin’s view.

The girl who had come with Ila and now stood with her head lowered and hands folded before her, raised her eyes at hearing Rand’s title. Perrin felt his jaw drop. He was sure his yellow eyes must have gone very wide at that moment, but they couldn’t possibly have gone wider than hers. Her eyes, that were every bit as yellow as his own.

“Cinclare!?” He’d met her before but Perrin barely recognised her now.

The once-savage wolfsister ignored him. She was staring at Rand, and when Perrin’s scrutiny brought Rand’s attention to her, and their eyes met, her lips parted to whisper a word. “Shadowkiller,” she said, in a tone of purest awe. Perrin had heard that name before. It was what the wolves called Rand. He didn’t understand how they knew of him at all though. Rand was no wolfbrother.

“Do what now?” Rand said, pursing his lips in confusion. Perrin had never told him about the name the wolves gave him. It hadn’t seemed relevant and the awe with which they’d said it made him uncomfortable. “Your eyes ... You’re—” He cut himself off, suddenly recalling that they had company. Perrin was very aware of Zarine’s curious scrutiny, and of Uno’s considering look. The Shienaran was part of Rand’s Inner Circle and one of the few who knew about the existence of the wolfkin.

Raine Cinclare dropped to her knees before Rand, shoulders hunched and head pushed forward submissively. Rand looked startled, and when she reached out to paw at his coattails, he hopped backwards out of her reach. “Are you okay, miss?”

“Raine! I thought we were over this. You are a woman, not a wolf,” Ila scolded.

But Raine had no more attention to spare for her than she had had for Perrin. “Shadowkiller,” she breathed once more, still staring at Rand. “The first of all.”

“Ah, what is that exactly?” Rand asked her. “Shadowkiller?”

Perrin grimaced. “She means you. It’s ... what some friends of ours call you. Damned if I know why though.”

Rand frowned thoughtfully while darting glances between the wounded wolfbrother standing nearby and the crazy wolfsister kneeling there gaping at him. He looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but the crowd was as much on his mind as on Perrin’s.

Raine ducked her head even lower at Rand’s lack of attention. She whined and whimpered and showed him her neck, as though she was a puppy. Perrin grimaced and looked away. The only positive he could find in the situation was that Rand looked every bit as uncomfortable at her display as Perrin felt.

“For the Light’s sake, Raine,” Ila sighed. “What’s come over you?” When the wolfsister continued to ignore her, she turned her attention to Perrin. “Come,” she said, trying to hide her ill ease, “we must get you inside. Men will talk if their coats are afire.” To Zarine, she said, “You are quite beautiful, child. Perhaps you should beware of Perrin. I never see him but in the company of beautiful girls.” Zarine gave Perrin a flat, considering look, then tried to gloss it over quickly.

He made it as far as Raen’s wagon—yellow trimmed in red, with red and yellow spokes in tall, red-rimmed wheels, and red and yellow trunks lashed to the outside, standing beside a cook fire in the middle of the camp—but when he put his foot on the first of the wooden steps at the back, his knees gave way. Uno and Raen more than half-carried him inside, followed hurriedly by Zarine and Ila, and laid him on the bed built into the front of the wagon, with just room to get by to the sliding door leading to the driver’s seat.

It truly was like a little house, even to pale pink curtains at the two small windows on either side. He lay there staring at the ceiling. Here, too, the Tinkers made use of their colours; the ceiling was lacquered sky blue, the high cabinets green and yellow. Zarine unfastened his belt and took away his axe and quiver while Ila rummaged in one of the cabinets. Perrin could not seem to rouse any interest in what they were doing.

“Anyone can be bloody surprised,” Uno suddenly said. “Learn from it instead of moping over it like a little flaming girl. No even Artur bloody Hawkwing won every battle.”

“Artur Hawkwing.” Perrin tried to laugh, but it turned into a groan. “Yes,” he managed. “I am certainly not Artur Hawkwing, am I?”

Ila frowned at Uno’s language—or at his sword, rather; she seemed to find that even worse than Perrin’s axe—and came to the bed with a wad of folded bandages. Once she had pulled Perrin’s shirt away from the arrow stub, she winced. “I do not think I am competent to remove this. It is bedded deep.”

“Barbed,” Uno said in a conversational tone. “Trollocs don’t bloody use bows much, but when they do the arrows are always as barbed as their pricks.”

Ila had heard enough. “Out,” the plump woman said firmly, rounding on Uno. “And you as well, Raen. Tending the sick is no business of men. Why don’t you go see if Moshea has that wheel on his wagon yet?”

“A good idea,” Raen said. “We may want to move tomorrow. There has been hard travelling this last year,” he confided to Perrin. “All the way to Cairhien, before the disaster there, then down to Ghealdan, then up here to Andor again. Tomorrow, I think.”

When the red door shut behind him and Uno, Ila turned to Zarine worriedly. “If it is barbed, I do not think I can remove it at all. I will try if I must, but if there is anyone nearby who knows more of such things ...”

“There is someone in Emond’s Field,” Zarine assured her. “But is it safe to leave it in him until tomorrow?”

“Safer than me cutting, perhaps. I can mix something for him to drink for the pain, and blend a poultice against infection.”

Glaring at the two women, Perrin said, “Hello? Do you remember me? I am right here. Stop trying to talk over my head.”

They looked at him for a moment.

“Keep him still,” Ila told Zarine. “It is all right to let him talk, but do not allow him to move about. He may injure himself more.”

“I will see to it,” Zarine replied.

Perrin gritted his teeth and did his best to help in getting his coat and shirt off, but they had to do most of the work. He felt as weak as the worst wrought iron, ready to bend to any pressure. Four inches of thumb-thick arrow stuck out almost atop his last rib, rising from a puckered gash thick with dried blood. They pushed his head down on a pillow, for some reason not wanting him to look at it. Zarine washed the wound while Ila prepared her salve with a stone mortar and pestle—plain smooth grey stone, the first things he had seen in the Tinker camp that were not brightly coloured. They mounded the salve around the arrow and wrapped him with bandages to hold it.

“Raen and I will sleep beneath the wagon tonight,” the  _ Tuatha’an _ woman said at last, wiping her hands. Frowning at the arrow stub sticking up from his bandages, she shook her head. “Once I thought he might eventually find the Way of the Leaf. He was a gentle boy, I think.”

“The Way of the Leaf is not for everyone,” Zarine said gently, but Ila shook her head again. “It is for everyone,” she replied just as gently, and a touch sadly, “if they only knew it.”

She left then, and Zarine sat on the edge of the bed blotting his face with a folded cloth. He seemed to be sweating a great deal for some reason.

“I blundered,” he said after a time. “No, that is too soft. I don’t know the right word.”

“You did not blunder,” she said firmly. “You did what seemed fitting at the time. It was fitting; I cannot imagine how they got behind us. Gaul is not one to make a mistake about where his enemies are. Uno was right, Perrin. Anyone can find circumstances that have changed when he did not know. You held everyone together. You brought us out.”

He shook his head hard and made his side hurt worse. “Rand brought us out. What I did was get twenty-seven men killed,” he said bitterly, trying to sit up to face her. “Some of them were my friends, Zarine. And I got them killed.”

Zarine threw her weight on his shoulders to push him back down. It was a measure of his weakness, how easily she held him. “There will be time enough for that in the morning,” she said firmly, peering down into his face, “when we have to put you back on your horse. Al’Thor did not bring us out; I do not think he cared particularly if anyone but he and his servants did get out. Those men would have scattered in every direction if not for you, and then we’d all have been hunted down. They would not have held together for the likes of al’Thor, who acts like a stranger even though he was raised here. As for your friends—” Sighing, she sat back down again. “Perrin, my father says a general can take care of the living or weep for the dead, but he cannot do both.”

“I am not a general, Zarine. I am a fool of a blacksmith who thought he could use other people to help him get justice, or maybe revenge. I still want it, but I don’t want to use anyone else for it any longer.”

“Do you think the Trollocs will go away because you decide your motives are not pure enough?” The heat in her voice made him raise his head, but she pushed it back to the pillow almost roughly. “Are they any less vile? Do you need a purer reason to fight them than what they are? Another thing my father says. The worst sin a general can commit, worse than blundering, worse than losing, worse than anything, is to desert the men who depend on him.”

A tap came at the door, and a slender, handsome young Tinker in a red-and-green striped coat put his head in. He flashed a smile at Zarine, all white teeth and oozing charm, before looking at Perrin. “Grandfather said it was you. I thought this was where Egwene said she came from.” He frowned suddenly, disapprovingly. “Your eyes. I see you have followed Elyas after all, to run with the wolves. I was sure you would never find the Way of the Leaf.”

Perrin knew him; Aram, Raen and Ila’s grandson. He did not like him; he smiled like Wil. “Go away, Aram. I am tired.”

“Is Egwene with you?”

“Egwene’s dead, Aram,” he growled, “Go away!”

Aram blinked, and hastily shut the door. With himself outside.

Perrin let his head fall back. “He smiles too much,” he muttered. “I cannot abide a man who smiles too much.” Zarine made a choking noise, and he looked at her suspiciously. She was biting her underlip.

“I have something in my throat,” she said in a strangled voice, getting up hastily. She hurried to the wide shelf below the foot of the bed where Ila had prepared her poultice and stood with her back to him, pouring water from a green-and-red pitcher into a blue-and-yellow mug. “Would you like something to drink, too? Ila left this powder, for the pain. It will help you sleep.”

“I don’t want any powder,” he complained, but she made him drink it anyway. He hadn’t enough strength left to fight her, or to fight the sleep that soon washed over him.

* * *

Clad in his shirtsleeves, Rand stretched out on the ground with his back against a fallen log and his feet near the fire, enjoying his first good smoke in a while. His pipe clicked softly against his teeth as he tapped it in time with the Tinkers’ tune. Hurin and Anna sat nearby, enjoying the music and the chance to rest, just as he was. But even here, Uno and his men did not relax their vigil. Rand hoped that at least some of them would get a decent sleep tonight.

“It’s actually surprisingly good to see you again,” Anna was saying. “I know we didn’t exactly get off on the right foot but I’m glad you’ve been keeping well.”

Rand cracked an eye open just enough to peer at the wolfsister Anna addressed. He might have thought her pretty but for the strangeness of it all. She was only a little taller than Anna, and much thinner. The strands of hair that peaked out from under her bright bonnet were red, and her eyes, of course, were as golden as Perrin’s. Her accent reminded him a little of Min’s, though hers had a harsher kind if lilt. He suspected she was Andoran, and from somewhere in the east of the country.

“Thank you. I am glad you weren’t eaten,” the wolfsister, Raine, responded with almost comical stiffness. Anna laughed softly, shaking her head as though exasperated.

Though she spoke to Anna, Raine’s attention drifted Rand’s way for what seemed the hundredth time that night. She actually sniffed at him, and not in the way he was used to women doing it. He closed his eye again and tried to pretend he was ignoring her. So far it hadn’t made her go away. She’d followed him all over the camp since Perrin went off to bed.

“It was close at times,” Anna said. “We probably wouldn’t have made it if not for Elyas. He was fine when we last saw him, by the way.”

“That is good. But he is not the first now.”

“Ahh ... okay ...” Anna said slowly. “Um, you’re looking more ladylike than I remember. Not that I’m judging mind, I mean ...” Even without looking Rand could picture her waving a self-deprecating hand over her own form, the plain coat and shirt and breeches she habitually wore.

“Ila has been teaching me things. Or ... helping me to remember things, perhaps. I ... was not always like this. It is strange. I am strange.” As she went on, Raine’s voice grew more and more stricken.

“Nothing wrong with being strange. People have been calling me strange all my life.” Anna snorted. “Just taking my da’s name instead of my mother’s was a big controversy to some around here, and never mind that he raised me alone and that there were no other al’Tolans still around. Strange is good as far as I’m concerned. The Shadow take anyone who says different.”

“I’m strange,” Raine repeated, accurately.

“Yes.”

“Oh.” The wolfsister went quiet for a time. “I have a friend now. She is strange, too. Is that okay?”

“Um ... what do you mean exactly?”

“Well, she is small. And a Tinker. They are prey. Their teeth only good for plants. But I wouldn’t want her hurt. You would not fight her?”

Anna laughed. “Raine. You can have more than one friend. It’s fine. I promise I won’t fight with this Tinker girl.”

“Oh, I see. That’s good. Then I ... I would like to be your friend, too.”

“It’s a pact then,” Anna said. He was nearly certain she had rolled her eyes when she said it.

Rand blew out a long stream of smoke.  _ Smooth as silk, these two _ , he thought to himself, suppressing a smile.

“That’s my friend there,” Raine said. “The one in the green and yellow. She likes those colours. This dress used to be hers.”

Rand cracked an eye once more, meaning only to take a casual glance, but soon found himself sitting up against the log.

All around them the  _ Tuatha’an _ sang and danced, cooked and ate around their campfires—fruits and nuts, berries and vegetables; they ate no meat apparently—and went about a myriad domestic chores as if they had not a care in the world. But on the other side of the fire that Rand and those newcomers who were not currently bedridden had gathered around, was a knot of dancing Tinker women. Rand realised, in that moment, that there were dances ... and then there were  _ dances _ .

All the dances Rand had learned involved spins or lifts, precise foot movements, whether quick or slow, but none had ever involved swirling your hips like that! And ... since it was women doing it, with their already eye-catching curves ...  _ Light .. _ . He was vaguely aware of Anna snorting knowingly about something, but his attention was all for the dancers.

They ranged in age from a little younger than him to a lot older, and all were clad in the bright colours the  _ Tuatha’an _ favoured, their skirts swirling around them as they gyrated to the beat of the drums. The girl Raine had mentioned, in yellow and green, was one of the younger ones. Short and slight, she had long black hair, fair skin and the most startlingly green eyes Rand had ever seen. Those emerald orbs seemed even larger than Min’s when set in the Tinker girl’s narrow face. Her ears were a bit on the big side, and stuck out from her head in a somewhat unfortunate manner, but that was nowhere near enough to make her less than beautiful. While the other Tinkers danced in a deliberately provocative fashion, often winking at the watching people, Rand included, and smiling at the obvious effect they were having, Raine’s friend seemed to be in a little world of her own. Despite the entrancing way she shook her narrow hips, he thought she was dancing for herself rather than for any of the watchers.

As the drums beat on and the dancers danced, Rand found that the other Tinkers faded from his view in favour of the green-eyed girl. He didn’t know her at all ... but for some reason it felt good to see her, for the first time.  _ She’s frolicking _ . A smile spread across his face as the silly notion flickered across his mind. He shook his head to try and clear his addled thoughts.

“Her name is Merile. She would make a fine mate, Shadowkiller,” a nearby voice said quietly.

Startled, Rand sucked in a bit more smoke than he’d intended.

“Do you need me to slap your back for you, Rand?” Anna drawled unhelpfully as he coughed up a storm, and the gathered folk—Tinker and Therener alike—laughed at his misfortune.

_ What did she just ...!? _ He caught a glimpse of Raine’s face between doubling over and spluttering. She’d come over to his side at some point while he’d been engrossed in the dancing, and now sat on her heels, looking solemnly serious, despite her outrageous presumptions.

The dancers had noticed his coughing, too, and were now making a special point to eye him up as they gyrated their hips. He saw more amusement than desire in their eyes though. All save the green-eyed girl, Merile, who had stopped dancing altogether and now stood in the middle of it all, her head cocked to the side, watching Raine curiously.

“You ... you don’t just say stuff like that!” Rand choked, once he could breathe freely again. “And my name isn’t Shadowkiller, it’s Rand.”

The wolfsister nodded obediently. “I understand. I am Raine. Even though I am also Bane. And you are Rand, Shadowkiller. Merile does not have another name. She is lucky. Maybe.”

He looked to Anna for a translation, since she’d obviously met this girl before, but she just gave a short shake of her head.  _ Maybe Perrin can make sense of all this. I’ll ask him as soon as I can get him alone _ .

“The People do not need a second name,” announced one of the nearby Tinker men, a lithe and handsome youth. “Such things only serve to divide people. That is not the Way.”

“By promoting loyalty to immediate family rather than loyalty to humanity as a whole. I suppose there’s a kernel of truth to that,” Rand said.

“Perhaps there is hope for you then,” the man said. His eyes flickered over the sword at Rand’s waist, his mouth twisting in distaste. “More than I would have thought. The Way is hard for outsiders. Raine here was never able to truly understand it, no more than the others like her have been.”

“It is the way of prey. Run or die,” Raine summarised succinctly.

That didn’t please the handsome Tinker at all, but he didn’t argue with her. Instead, he shot his distaste at her from the corner of his eye, even as he shied away from her. It was Merile who responded, in a voice that was at once chirpy and dreamy. “That’s not true, Raine. Some leaf-eating animals have been known to fight back against predators, and even to kill them. That’s not the Way at all.” The other women danced on, but Merile skipped over to join her golden-eyed friend without a backwards glance. Like Raine and Min, she had that accent he’d come to associate with eastern Andor, but once again there was a slight difference, in her case a certain high, lilting cadence that sounded very charming to Rand’s ears.

Raine grunted. “Boar are dangerous. But a pack could bring one down.”

“As always, she misses the point,” the Tinker man said. Rand didn’t want to judge him based on such a short acquaintance, but there was a smugness about the fellow that was getting on his nerves.

“That’s Aram,” said Anna. “He’s the Seeker’s grandson. He and Egwene got on famously.”

“A true beauty she. It was an honour to see such a flower bloom to womanhood,” Aram sighed. Rand looked to Anna again, wondering if the Tinker was implying what he seemed to be implying. Her short nod said that he was. Rand grunted low. Well, he could hardly judge Egwene for that. Their engagement hadn’t been entirely welcomed by either party, and had officially ended when Egwene announced her intention to leave the Theren, at least so far as Rand was concerned. Besides, he was a long way from being a paragon of fidelity himself. There was another concern, however.

“Here in the Theren it is often said that a gentleman should never kiss and tell.”

Aram shook his head as though saddened. “That kind of prudishness only promotes shame at our natural urges. The People do not judge each other for such things. Would you shame dear Merile here for having shared my bed?” He smiled slyly at Rand as he watched for a reaction.

Merile’s fair cheeks reddened in a way that told him not all Tinker’s shared Aram’s ... directness. “Shame and regret aren’t the same thing, but they’re pretty close,” she muttered.

“I wouldn’t,” Rand said, in answer to Aram. “I’d wonder at her bad taste, but then I’d remember my own past, and realise I had no room to criticise.” Rand suddenly recalled Anna’s nearness, and made some hasty additions to that statement. “Parts of my past anyway. Very distant ones.” He very carefully refrained from looking her way, but he could almost feel her glare scorching his skin.

“Taste will vary. Some women enjoy the sight of killers flexing their brutish muscles. Perhaps it inflames the animal in them,” Aram said, darting a look at Raine, who scowled at the ground, “but others appreciate a more enlightened man.”

“I like his muscles. They’re all lumpy,” Merile said guilessly.

_ Lumpy? _ It wasn’t exactly the most flattering description Rand had ever heard. But there was a more pressing matter to address.

“Aram, was it?” Rand didn’t wait for the man to acknowledge the question. “You shame yourself with this crass boasting. Such things should be kept private. I find your company unpleasant. Please remove yourself from my presence.”

The man rose to his feet with a tolerant sigh. “Perhaps the Way of the Leaf is not for you after all.”

“It isn’t. I’d rather the world kept existing.”

“And you think murder will help that? Will help anything?”

Rand found his tolerance growing thin. “If Tarmon Gai’don began tomorrow and everyone in the world decided they just wouldn’t fight, what do you imagine would happen to us? Do you think the Dark One would just ... go away? Because we asked him nicely? Well, we’ll have to disagree on that. You’re entitled to believe in your Way. You may even survive believing in it. But you’ll survive because other people  _ didn’t _ believe in it, and were willing to do what you wouldn’t.”

That rather threw a bucket of water over the mood around the fire. Aram wasn’t the only Tinker to move away from Rand. Some of the Theren men even shot him sour looks, but Rand suspected it was more due to the way the music ground to a halt and the girls stopped dancing than because they disagreed about the Way of the Leaf.

Merile was one of the few  _ Tuatha’an _ that stayed near him after his outburst. “Do you really think the Way is silly?” she asked, sounding hurt.

Rand opened his mouth angrily, but one look at those big green eyes and his anger evaporated. “I think it’s a nice dream, Merile,” he sighed. “And there are a lot worse things to believe. And do. A lot worse. But it just wouldn’t work. If we all followed the Way of the Leaf, humanity would never survive to see another Age. I can’t support something about which that can be said.”

“I suppose that’s true,” she said sadly, plopping down on the log at his side. “I can’t imagine anybody being able to bring those Trollocs to the Way of the Leaf, even Ila. And if nobody stops them then they’ll just kill everyone.” Rand was surprised to hear her agree so easily. In his experience, once people had decided to believe something, they were very reluctant to change their minds.

He smiled. “That’s ... very open-minded of you. I like that.”

“Oh, you’re too kind! Is ... is it warm out here? Stop babbling, Merile ...”

“I’m Rand, by the way. Rand al’Thor. Sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier, I was preoccupied.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I’m Merile,” she said cheerfully. Then she gave a little wince. “Which you probably knew already. Sorry.”

“Merile is not stupid. She just looks that way sometimes,” Raine said, in an earnest and heroic display of friendship. Anna flinched as though struck.

“I ... You’re ... I don’t think she’s stupid at all, Raine ...” Rand improvised.

Merile smiled as though at a great compliment. “Really!? Most people say I am. Even among the caravans. Oh, you’re much nicer than I thought you’d be when you rode in looking all stabby.”

“Ah, thanks,” he said.  _ Well, these two are certainly as odd a pair as I’ve ever met. Not that that’s a bad thing, Anna had a good point there _ .

“I see Wil’s making friends,” Anna said. Rand followed her gaze and found Wil al’Seen sitting with a  _ Tuatha’an _ girl in his lap. She was kissing him openly, while the other Theren men tried to look anywhere but at the two of them. Even Wil, notorious slut that he was, had gone red in the cheeks at such a public display of affection.

“Aw. That’s Cerani. She’s nice. She’ll take good care of him,” Merile informed them.

“Well I’m not going to sit here and watch that,” Anna muttered, climbing to her feet. “I’m for bed. We’ll want to be up early tomorrow; the wounded need to get to Emond’s Field as soon as possible.” That last seemed to be directed at Rand, though it was nothing he did not already know. He nodded agreement and wished her goodnight.

Most of the others were drifting off, too, by then. Rand looked around for Hurin but couldn’t see him.  _ He must have slipped off at some point while I wasn’t looking _ . Perhaps when the girl’s started dancing. Hurin was a married man, with a pair of kids back in Fal Dara, and notably faithful.

“I suppose it is kind of late. I should take Anna’s advice,” Rand said, tapping out his pipe. “It was a pleasure to meet you both.”

“Do you want to mate me now, First?” Raine said, in much the same tone she might have used to ask if he wanted carrots or onions in his stew.

Rand froze half way to his feet. “Ah ... What?”

Her golden eyes regarded him levelly. “Mate me. Take me to your den and breed me,” she said.

After a long moment, Rand managed to close his mouth. He came fully to his feet, shaking his head, once more at a loss for how to respond to the wolfsister.  _ And to think Perrin is constantly bemoaning how inhuman he’s gotten since his eyes changed. He’s barely changed at all compared to this one! _ “Um, I’m flattered, Raine, truly,” he managed at last. “But ... I’m not sure that’s really ... Well. Why do you want to? We only just met.”

“You are the First of all, Shadowkiller,” was all she said.

Rand was no prude. He’d been involved in trysts before that might fairly have been called shallow. The wolfsister’s offer did not offend him in that regard, and she was certainly attractive. But something about the whole situation made him uncomfortable.  _ She’s acting as though she  _ has _ to sleep with me. Like it’s a rule or something, instead of something she wants to do. I don’t think I like that at all. If I thought she actually liked me ... But, no. This is ... wrong _ .

“Ah ... No thank you, Raine. You’re a very pretty girl, but I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

She blinked her lambent orbs in confusion. “Oh. But ... Why not?”

He hesitated to answer that, not wanting to cause offense. But in the end, he decided to be honest. “I feel like you’re offering because of what the wolves say I am, rather than because you want to. And that worries me. It almost makes it seem like you don’t have a choice. Which you do. And always should. You’re a girl as well as a wolfsister, Raine as well as Bane, like you told me. If I thought all of you wanted this, things might be different. But I’d rather be with someone who wanted to be with me, too, rather than someone who was doing it out of some kind of duty.”

He waited for an outraged explosion. Few people took rejection well, and even fewer of those were female. Raine knelt there still, sitting on her heels with a pensive frown on her brow, looking inward. “I’ve gone backwards, haven’t I?” she said at last. “Burn me. I thought I’d come so far, but one look at you and ... I’m a wretched beast.”

“No you’re not,” Rand said firmly.

Merile had watched the exchange in silence, her only sign of alarm at the wolfsister’s bizarre behaviour being the way she rubbed at her own fingers. Now she spoke up with cheerful firmness. “Definitely not. Honestly, who doesn’t get a little excited at a pretty face every once in a while? There’s no need to be upset.”

“You don’t understand,” Raine said bitterly. “Neither of you do.”

Rand nodded slowly. “I don’t, it’s true. But I mean to learn.” When she just sat there, staring at the hands folded in her lap, he spoke again. “Well. Good night, Raine. Again, please don’t take this as a slight. You are a very attractive girl, and I see a good heart in you. I wish you nothing but good things.” She nodded in morose silence, so he turned and walked away, leaving the poor girl to her troubled thoughts.


	52. A Falling Leaf

CHAPTER 49: A Falling Leaf

Merile lingered to have a private word with her friend as Rand went in search of his blanketroll. But before he’d gotten too far he heard running footsteps behind him and turned to find her there. The Tinker girl smiled uncertainly at first, but when he smiled back she came to walk at his side.

“It was good of you to say that to Raine. She’s been struggling lately with the wolves’ influence on her mind.”

“My friend Perrin faces similar issues,” Rand said. Then he winced. “Well, similar in some ways at least. He’s never called me anything like that, or asked me to ... You know.”

“I’ve never heard her speak like that. I didn’t know what to do with myself,” Merile giggled.

“Neither did I. If I’d had a fan I might have ended up fluttering it like some lady in a story,” he joked.

She giggled again. “I can’t imagine it, a towering lord like you.”

“I’m actually a shepherd,” Rand said. “Despite the armsmen.”

“Oh, sorry. I thought only lords dressed all fancy and had soldiers to protect them. I don’t talk to that many people who aren’t pe—I mean ... outsiders? I’m babbling aren’t I? Sorry, I was never that good with people.”

“You seem perfectly fine to me. I’d take you home to my parents any day.”

“I already have parents, but thanks for the offer,” she chirped.

Rand grinned down at her and she dropped her eyes, blushing prettily. “I take it you are  _ Tuatha’an _ born then, and not a convert?”

“Oh, yes. I was born in the caravan. I’ve never been anywhere else. I’ve seen towns and cities from afar though. We try to stay away from people who—” She sighed. “I know you are a person, too.”

He put an arm across her narrow shoulders and gave her a light hug. “Don’t worry so much.”

“You know ... No-one’s making me do anything. The leaf lives its appointed time, and does not struggle against the wind that carries it away ...” Merile said, biting her lip softly and looking down at the grass they trod across.

He regarded her in silence. A pregnant silence in which her cheeks reddened further. She really was quite pretty. Those eyes, the gentle curve to her delicate jaw ... He touched his fingers to that jaw and gently guided it upwards. There was no resistance, but she denied him the sight of her eyes. Only her mouth opened. Rand had to bend low to bring himself to her level.

“You mean you wouldn’t even struggle if I did this ...?” he whispered. Then he traced the curves of her soft lips with the ball of his thumb.

“No,” she breathed.

He combed his fingers gently through her dark hair. “What about this? Wouldn’t you fight to stop me?”

Her head shook under his touch, but instead of denying him she leaned towards him.

“So you wouldn’t run if I wanted to kiss your mouth?” he breathed, leaning in close enough to feel her breath on his face.

“I wouldn’t,” Merile said. And she didn’t either.

Her lips were soft and pliant under his but that did not mean they were without hunger. Merile kissed Rand back passionately now that he had initiated matters. She wasn’t shy about feeling up the muscles of his chest. Her adventurous hands emboldened him to use his own. The breasts he fondled through the fabric of her dress were small but sweetly rounded.

When Merile finally leaned back and allowed him to once more see those lovely eyes of hers, he found them wet with emotion. Between that and the rosy hue of her cheeks, he dared to hope that was the only thing about her that was wet.

“You are beautiful, Merile,” he said softly.

“So are you,” she said tremulously.

He took her by the waist. She was so slender his hands could almost join while holding her between them, and so light that he was easily able to lift her up to face him. “It’s not too late to run, my lovely Tinker girl,” he said.

“I don’t want to,” Merile responded as her feet dangled more than a foot above the ground. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again.

“Where ... should I take you?” Rand asked between kisses.

“My wagon isn’t far. We’d need ... to be quiet though ...”

Rand stumbled through the camp with the girl still held in his arms, her lips still pecking away at his. The few fires and lanterns that remained lit created pools of brightness to guide his path. The threaded his way through them, sticking to the shadowed edges and following Merile’s lowly voiced directions. When they reached the wagon she was steering them towards, he set her down.

Merile seized Rand’s hands in hers before he could withdraw them from her body, she backed away, leading him towards short steps that let up to the door of the wagon’s side. “My parents should be asleep by now, and Tamlin will be off with his girl.”

As beautiful and sweet as she was, and as excited as she’d made him, Rand dragged his feet, and not because she knew someone who shared Tam’s name. “Your parents are in the wagon? Well then we should go elsewhere.”

“Don’t worry about it. They won’t mind, so long as we’re quiet. Aram may be a jerk but he’s not a liar. None of the People will judge us. And there’s a little door that separates my bed from the rest of the wagon, so no-one will see us either. Come on!” She smiled as she tugged him towards the door. Rand let himself be led, despite his sudden nervousness.

Merile skipped up the steps easily, but Rand’s heavier tread caused some alarmingly loud creaks. He winced, half-expecting angry parents to sprout from the ground like weeds, despite Merile’s reassurances.

The lanterns were already extinguished inside the wagon. Rand kept hold of Merile’s small hand as they crept through the darkness. He had to be careful not to squeeze too tightly. He also had to walk crouched over to avoid bumping his head on the roof. Even so, a surprised grunt of pain escaped him when Merile reached her destination.

She shushed him, giggling lightly as she guided his steps through the narrow door to her room. Rand had to walk almost doubled over to avoid banging his head against the doorjamb. It was a cramped little cubicle she slept in, with barely enough room for the two of them to stand over her narrow bed. Merile squeezed in behind him and pulled the door closed, still giggling away.

“I can barely move in here,” Rand whispered.

“That was my cunning plan,” a low voice said from the darkness. Rand felt a momentary stab of alarm, remembering other times when his ... predilections had gotten him in trouble—and nearly gotten him killed in some cases. But then Merile continued in her playful voice. “This way you can’t escape me. I’ll have you all to myself tonight.”

“Believe me, Merile, you don’t need a cage for that. One look at you was all it took.”

“Oh? You like looking at me?”

“Of course!”

“Well then. Just a moment.” She squeezed past him, rubbing up against him in a way that made his breeches feel every bit as cramped as her sleeping cubicle. Fumbling sounds, scrapes of metal on wood and strikes of stone against stone, reached Rand’s ears. Soon enough a small light bloomed in the room. Merile shuttered the little lamp and hung it from a hook on the roof. Rand had to shield his eyes for a moment against the sudden light in those tight quarters. When he lowered his hand again, he saw brightly coloured clothes, usually of green and yellow, like Raine had implied, hanging from pegs on the wall above her bed, with its prettily embroidered covers. Some few personal belongings littered the room: a wooden hairbrush, a string of coloured beads, some carved little miniatures of various animals—none of them predators—scarves and shoes. Rand gave it all only a cursory glance. Merile was standing close, smiling up at him, waiting.

This time, when he touched his fingers lightly to her jaw, she did not drop her eyes, and it was her who surged forwards to press her lips to his.

Merile helped him pull the shirt over his head. When he tossed it to the ground, he found her skirt already awaiting it there. The Tinker’s skinny legs poked out from under her white slip. She attacked the buttons on her blouse with a flattering gusto. Her eyes, that had travelled over his body appreciatively, tightened with concern when they saw the ever-livid scar on his side. “Are you okay? That looks like it hurts.”

It did. It stung constantly, but Rand was growing used to it. There were times he barely even noticed the pain any more, until someone drew his attention to it, as now. “It’s fine,” he lied, smiling. “Dare I hope you are going to show me what’s under that slip?”

“Only if you show me what’s under those breeches,” Merile said with a saucy smile.

“It’s a deal!” Rand sat on the bed to rid himself of his boots, never once taking his eyes off her as she did so.

Merile bit her lip at his scrutiny. But then she took a deep breath, reached down to seize the hem of her slip, and pulled it up over her head. When her head cleared the fabric, her dark locks fell free to brush across her narrow shoulders, some strands even tickling the soft flesh of her breasts, and the stiff, pink nipples that crowned them. Rand licked his lips and let his eyes rove further down her slender form. Thin as she was, she still had a very noticeable, womanly figure. It was her waist, he decided. It was so narrow that it made her hips seem wider than they truly were. She had very little body hair, the dark triangle that covered her sex being barely an evening shadow. Her legs were as pretty as the rest of her, slender and smooth and begging to be touched.

“You are beautiful, Merile,” Rand breathed truthfully.

“You really think so?” she giggled. Her voice invited him to flatter her more.

He was quite happy to do so, for a great many other words had occurred to him as he looked upon her. “You’re gorgeous, you irresistible, mouth-watering, adorable, sexy little kitten, you. And those eyes ...”

Merile pressed her legs together and squirmed cutely at the stream of praise. She bit her lip. “You haven’t kept your side of our deal ...”

Rand had been in the process of undressing, he suddenly recalled. Seeing Merile in her naked glory had left him frozen in the act. He finished hastily now, sitting on the bed and yanking down his breeches and underwear at the same time, before depositing them on the floor of the cramped bedroom.

Despite all that talk of  _ Tuatha’an _ promiscuity, Merile’s cheeks turned crimson when she saw Rand completely naked. Her lovely green eyes stared down at his crotch.

“Creator, that's a big one!” she gasped. “That’s going inside me?”

“Light, but I hope so,” Rand rasped. He reached out his arms and she slipped into them. She sat her feather-light form upon his knee and leaned against him. Their lips met once more, even as the silky skin of her body brushed across Rand’s, seeming to bring an unprecedented awareness to every part of him it touched.

It wasn’t long before Merile was shifting her weight atop him, putting one knee on the bed he sat upon, while throwing the other across his waist. Despite her reticence of before, and the wide-eyed way she stared down at the space between them, Merile didn’t hesitate to take Rand’s cock in her small hand and guide it towards her centre. She sank down onto him slowing and gently, sliding her hot, wet lips over the head of his cock and letting out a sweet little moan when he popped inside her glorious heat. Down and down she went, swirling her hips just as she had when dancing so excitingly earlier that night, but slower now, like a leaf drifting on an autumn breeze. Rand had several inches left to go when he felt the head of his cock press up against a fleshy barrier. Merile let out a girlish little grunt, and the sweet descent of her body came to a halt. Her arms locked around his neck and her lips locked to his. As they kissed, Rand tried to mark by touch the depth with which she was comfortable, and resolved to limit himself to it.

Merile moved upon him, slowly at first, then faster. She kept the vocal signs of her pleasure low, just as they’d kept their voices low throughout, but some still escaped her. Rand loved to hear them. He let her build the pace, enjoying the sure sign of her growing lust as she bounced in his lap. His branded palms caressed her soft skin before reaching around to squeeze the cheeks of her little bottom. The bouncing intensified, each ascent and descent sending a thrill of pleasure through his body.

Sweat soon began to mist Merile’s pretty face. When he noticed her struggled to keep up the pace, Rand wrapped his arms around her waist and stood up. The cubicle she slept in might as well have been a closet for all the room there was to move. The bed wasn’t much bigger, and was certainly too small for them to cavort on. But Merile was light as a feather in his arms. Rand set his feet, rested one palm against the wooden wall of the little room, and began thrusting in and out of Merile’s pussy. She wrapped her legs around his hips and clung to his heck with both hands as she hung before him, helplessly impaled on his cock and showing no sign she wanted to be anything else. Her pretty little breasts shook with each movement of his hips, but the sweetest thing of all was the way she looked at him with those beautiful emerald eyes of hers.

He kept his thrusts measured to her body, but he did not spare her the truth of his hunger for her. Hard and fast Rand fucked Merile, spreading her lower lips wide and ploughing the depths of her womanhood. She bit her lip hard to keep from calling out under his intense ministrations.

Between one thrust and the next, between beats of his thundering heart, Merile suddenly bucked in Rand’s arms. Her legs tightened around him as she rocked her hips in counterpoint to his. A high-pitched squeal escaped her lips. “Light, yes! Right there!” She was beyond hearing Rand’s urgent shushes.

Merile released her grip on the back of his neck when her orgasm washed over her. She fell away from him and Rand had to scramble to catch her before she bumped her head on the wall, or even the ground. He didn’t know if it was a measure of her trust, her belief in the Way of the Leaf, or her general oddness that Merile didn’t even try to prevent herself from falling. She just hung there with her spasming pussy wrapped around his manhood while her arms and legs hung limply. “The leaf falls in its appointed time and place,” the  _ Tuatha’an _ had told him earlier. Rand didn’t care what this particular leaf’s appointed time and place were; for tonight, at least, he meant to see that she fell in his arms alone. He pulled her back up into his embrace, and eased them both down onto the bed.

He silenced her light moans with his lips. The bed was too small for him to do more than kneel between her legs, but that was enough. Merile lay naked before him in the warm light of her little lamp. Her knees were raised high, her toes curled, her body slick with the sign of their lovemaking, and her arms reached up to embrace him. Rand took her reaching hands in his as he resumed the movement of his hips.

Merile looked him right in the eyes as she welcomed his cock moving inside her body. He’d only just met her, and knew it had to be the madness working on him, but Rand almost felt as though he loved this girl. As though he had always loved her, even.

The crazed thought was still flitting across his mind when his climax ambushed him. He hadn’t expected it, despite the wondrous sights and sensations he’d been blessed with, and had to clench his teeth hard to keep from making a sound. Wide-eyed, he crushed Merile’s fingers in his hands before he could make himself release her, but the sweet, brave girl did not rebuke him for it. Rand spurted inside Merile, sending more and more hot come into her womb the longer it went on. And it went on for what felt like a long time. She took it all with the smiling acceptance of a true  _ Tuatha’an _ .

“Light, Merile,” he sighed, as the last weak drops were being squeezed from him, “you’re so ... so ... Merile.”

“That’s true ... But who else would I be?” she asked, pursing her lips as though it were a serious question.

Rand could only shake his head in response. Now that he’d satisfied his desire, a pleasant lassitude washed over him. It had been a long day, and what better way to end it than by falling asleep in the arms of a beautiful woman?

There was barely enough room on Merile’s bed for Rand to lie down, and there was certainly not enough room for him to stretch out. Merile squirmed about until she was lying atop him. There wasn’t room for her to do anything else, but she still sounded apologetic when she asked him if she was squashing anything.

“Don’t worry yourself, sweetheart,” Rand murmured. “You barely weigh a thing; this isn’t uncomfortable at all, it’s actually kind of nice. Get some sleep.” It  _ was _ nice, too. Her bare skin, her warmth, her ... herness. The feel of her heart beating against his. She felt good in his arms.

“Aw. I’ve never had a human mattress before. It’s soft and warm at the same time. Someone should market that. One of those merchants fellows maybe. People could probably make themselves a fortune,” Merile babbled.

“Um ... that’s ... certainly an idea, Merile,” Rand hedged sleepily. He tightened his arm around her slender shoulders and let his thoughts drift off towards a welcome slumber. Tomorrow the war against the Shadow, and the dangers of the taint, and all his other worries, would return in earnest, he had no doubt, but right there and right then, Rand felt the peace of which the  _ Tuatha’an _ dreamed. It was, as he had told Merile before, a sweet dream.

When he woke the next morning she was still in his arms, sleeping peacefully. The lamp had burned out long since, but shafts of sunlight were streaming in from the small, lead glass windows high in the cubicle’s outer wall. It was just like a little house; pretty, but far too cramped for Rand. Merile wasn’t though; she was just wonderful. It was a shame he’d never see her again. Though ... considering what he was and what he was fated to do, it would probably be for the best. He brushed his hand over the smooth flesh of her naked back. She stirred in response, mumbling incoherently, her breath tickling the wet spot on his chest. Rand frowned, and only after a long moment’s thought did he realise said spot’s origin. Merile had drooled on him in her sleep.

His soft laughter woke her. “Wozzat?” she slurred, raising her head to peer around the little room, just like a deer that had heard something suspicious.

“It’s nothing, Merile. Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

She squinted at him suspiciously. “Morning? It can’t be morning yet.” She flapped at his chest as though trying to plump a pillow, then settled back down and pressed her cheek against him. “Just a few more hours,” she mumbled.

Rand, who was used to rising at the crack of dawn to work the farm, pondered his options. On the one hand, Merile was really sweet and it felt nice to have her lying so close—and so naked at that. But on the other hand, he was wide-awake now and should probably be checking on the wounded people in their party, and helping to prepare for the ride to Emond’s Field. Shifting her might hurt her feelings. Playing the role of human pillow for however long it took her to come fully awake might hurt his self-respect. He tried for a third option and failed miserably.

“Whur a’u goin’?” Merile mumbled as he tried to ease stealthily out from under her.

“I should go and check on my people,” Rand said softly. “And it might be best if I wasn’t here when your parents get up.”

She yawned. “Tol’ u. Won’t mind. Stay a while. It’s cosy.”

“It is. I wish we could do this again. But I have to go,” he said sadly.

Merile rubbed at her sleepy eyes. “I know. It would have been nice if you’d stayed. I think I would have liked that. But I knew you wouldn’t.”

Rand knelt at the side of her bed and leant over to kiss her cheek, before fetching his clothes from the floor.

Once he had finished dressing, Rand stood and look back at the girl on the bed. She was curled up on her side, her most private parts hidden from his view by her arms and legs. She watched sadly, but neither did nor said anything to try and make him stay.

Rand had hoped to slip out the wagon quietly, but as soon as he stepped out of Merile’s bedroom he saw an older couple sitting by a small table that was bolted to one wall. They looked up, and despair shot through him when their eyes met his. Her once-brown hair was almost completely white, and his black hair was liberally streaked with grey. Merile had gotten her hair from her father then, and the eyes, too.

Rand cleared his throat. “Good morning to you both.”

The mother was grinding herbs with a mortar and pestle, while the father tended to a broken string on his fiddle. It was the mother who spoke first. “Good morning, young man. Would you like some breakfast?”

Rand politely refrained from looking at the door he desperately wanted to flee through. “No thank you, Mistress. I’m not hungry.”

“No? Well you do look like you have a lot of stamina,” the father said. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see that you’re up so early after such a late night. Thank you for showing Merile a good time, by the way. She sounded as though she enjoyed herself.”

Rand had no idea how long he stood there, staring at the smiling Tinker couple and blinking like a loon. He had the nagging feeling that he was supposed to say something, but his brain just refused to function.

“Aaahhh ...” he managed at last. “I-I have to ... tend my horse. Yes. I-It was nice meeting you both.” With a rictus smile painted on his face, Rand fled the wagon.

Irritation spiked in him when he noticed a pair of Shienarans casually loitering around Merile’s wagon. He had gotten used to them being there, and they were even trying to be subtle about it, having realised how much he lamented the lack of privacy he’d had ever since Falme, but for some reason the sight of them got on his nerves now.

They weren’t the only ones already up. Anna, who was as used to rising early as Rand was, patiently waited near a fire where a trio of Tinkers were mixing vegetables into a soup for breakfast. She saw him coming, and saw the direction he was coming from, too, and a wry smiled curved her lips.

“Made a Tinker friend, did you?” she said, when he was close enough to hear. “A certain little green-eyed girl, perhaps?”

“You’d need to ask her about that,” Rand said stoutly.

Anna snorted. “No I wouldn’t. I know you well enough.”

“What are you implying?”

“That you’re a total slut,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Well that’s not a very nice thing to say,” he said with a scowl.

“That doesn’t make it any less true,” Anna countered calmly.

Rand’s mouth worked, but he was unable to fashion an answer. After a while, Anna took mercy on him. “Look, I don’t mean anything by it. I still love you,” she said, smiling tolerantly. “But you  _ are _ a total slut.”

Rand turned his back on her and stalked away.

“And sulking about it won’t change it!” she called after him.

His Shienaran escort had to trot to catch up with Rand’s long-legged strides. It was Ayame and Hurin this morning. The sniffer must have volunteered to take someone else’s spot, for he didn’t usually share in the sentry duties. Given that Ayame and Rikimaru were often paired up, Rand suspected the latter had made a friend of his own last night.

The joint camp that his Shienarans and Perrin’s Thereners had set up was within the circle of Tinker wagons but still noticeably apart from it. There was no riot of colours here, unless you counted the yellow surcoats with the black hawk of Shienar emblazoned across them. Everything else was either grey steel, brown leather, or humble fabrics dyed in browns or whites or dull greens.

Few of the  _ Tuatha’an _ had approached the armed men when they first arrived, and few were with them now. Only one in fact. The plump old woman who had greeted Perrin—Ila, Rand thought her name was—spoke earnestly to Nangu outside the unused tent that had been set up for Rand. She stopped when she saw him approaching, and gave the Shienaran a flat look of rebuke that actually caused his cheeks to redden, before marching over to intercept Rand.

She dipped a curtsy before speaking to him. Rand winced at the sight, but before he could ask her not to, Ila spoke. “My Lord, you must come quickly. Something is wrong with the Lady Faile.”


	53. Faile

CHAPTER 50: Faile

Faint voices called Perrin up from the depths of his slumber. “...with her?” “Like this when I ...” “She won’t respond.” “... unnatural.”

“I’m no healer,” someone muttered. “Could it be a coma of some kind?” He thought it was Rand’s voice.

“Such things don’t happen without a reason,” Ila said. “And she was unhurt when I left her here last night.”

“Hurin? Can you tell if anyone has been here? Someone with violent intent?”

“I’m not sure, Lord Rand,” the sniffer said slowly. “It’s kind of like that time we were tracking Fain,” the sound of that name drove a lot of the fog from Perrin’s mind. Fain. “You know, when the trail was in two places at once? I can’t explain it. But ...”

“Go on.”

“Well ... I almost want to say Lord Luc was here, but that can’t be true. Someone would have noticed him. And ... Well it doesn’t smell the same either, not really. A bit like him, but a bit not, too.” Hurin blew out a breath. “I’m sorry I’m not being more helpful, my Lord.”

“Don’t be, you’re doing fine,” Rand said absently.

Perrin struggled up out of the darkness. He felt exhausted and his flesh was tender as though from illness. He blinked his eyes into focus and found himself still in the Tinker wagon that Zarine had put him to sleep in the night before. Rand and Hurin were there, standing with Ila and looking down on a mound of blankets on the bed opposite from his. A dark-haired girl slept there quietly, very quietly in fact, almost as though she wasn’t even breathing.

“Zarine?” he said. Sleep and the dryness of his throat made the word come out as a pained croak. There was no answer. He felt the hair on the back of his neck shift. “Zarine?” He reached towards her. “Faile!”

“Calm yourself, Perrin. That arrow is still lodged in your side, be careful not to move too much,” Rand said firmly.

“Best you listen to him, Perrin Aybara. He speaks sense, for a man,” Ila added. Far from being pleased, Rand lips tightened at her words.

In agony, Perrin stared at Zarine. At Faile. She lay there as if lifeless. She looked as if she were dead. He could not see her chest stir. He wanted to howl. “Aren’t you going to do anything? If you will not, I am going to her.”

“If you have an idea about what to do, I’m open to hearing it. We’ve tried shaking her and splashing her face with water, but she won’t wake up,” said Rand.

“Her skin is cold. I don’t know why,” Ila muttered.

Perrin stared at them, his teeth bared. “What was done to her? Is she alive? I cannot see her breathe!”

“She’s alive,” Rand hastened to say. “She just won’t wake up.”

“It’s almost as if she’s not in her body,” Ila said.

She ignored the exasperated look Rand gave her, and so did Perrin. “What do you mean she is not in her body? Light! You don’t mean they ... took her soul. Like the Grey Men!” He demanded in a panic. His chest hurt as if he had not breathed in too long.

“Light send it is not so,” Ila prayed. Her prayers did nothing to calm Perrin’s nerves.

“A suspicion, a hint, anything! Burn me, what’s wrong with her? Where is she?”

“I do not know, Perrin,” Ila said gently. “I’m sorry, but perhaps this is simply her time. The leaf does not choose when it will fall from the tree, or resist when it finally does.”

Perrin did not follow the Way of the Leaf, and no Therener ever gave up without a fight. “There is too much you don’t know,” he muttered. He peered across the wagon and wanted to cry. Zarine looked so small, lying there, so helpless.  _ Faile. I swear I will only call you Faile, ever again _ . “Why don’t you do something!”

The three of them just stared at her grimly, lost for ideas.  _ Useless. I have to do something myself. She’s not in her body, Ila thinks. But where else could she be? Perhaps ... If it is like the wolf dreams ... _ He considered that carefully.  _ It might work. It might. It has to! _

They ignored him, talking among themselves as if any of them could fix such a problem.  _ It has to work. I don’t care if Min warned me against her or not! _ Perrin closed his eyes and breathed deep, trying to calm his racing heart. The exhaustion of sickness was still upon him and soon enough he felt himself growing sleepy. He very deliberately refrained from fighting the pull of the wolf dream.

Whether this dream was  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ or not, Perrin did not know, but he knew it for the wolf dream. He stood near the  _ Tuatha’an _ wagons under bright sunlight, alone, and there was no arrow in his side, no pain. Among the wagons firewood was stacked ready to be lit beneath iron cookpots hanging from tripods, and clothes hung from washlines; there were no people or horses. He wore neither coat nor shirt, but a blacksmith’s long leather vest that left his arms bare. No arrow jutted from his side. It could have been any dream, perhaps, except that he was aware it was a dream. And he knew the feel of the wolf dream, the reality and solidity of it, from the long grass around his boots to the breeze out of the west that ruffled his curly hair, to the scattered ash and hemlock. The Tinkers’ gaudy wagons did not seem real, though; they had an air of insubstantiality, a feel that they might shimmer and be gone any moment. They never remained long in one place, Tinkers. No soil held them.

Wondering how much the land held him, he rested a hand on his axe—and looked down in surprise. The heavy blacksmith’s hammer hung in the loop on his belt, not the axe. He ran his fingers over the head of the heavy smith’s hammer. It felt right, but he frowned; once he would have chosen that way, but surely no more. The axe. He had chosen the axe. Hammerhead suddenly became half-moon blade and thick spike, flickered back to stout cylinder of cold steel, fluttered between. Finally it stopped, as his axe, and he exhaled slowly. That had never happened before. Here, he could change things as he wanted with ease, things about himself at least. “And I want the axe,” he said firmly. “The axe.”

Looking around, he could just see a farmhouse to the south, and deer browsing the barley field, surrounded by a rough stone wall. A bristling quiver abruptly tugged at his belt opposite the axe, and he had a stout longbow in his hand with a broadhead arrow nocked. A long leather bracer covered his left forearm. Nothing moved except those deer.

There was no feel of wolves, and he did not call Hopper, for Slayer could well be out there somewhere. Nevertheless, Hopper alighted in front of him.

_ Again you come, like a fool _ . The sending was of a cub sticking its nose into a hollow tree trunk to lap honey despite the bees stinging its muzzle and eyes.  _ The danger is greater than ever, Young Bull. Evil things walk the dream. The brothers and sisters avoid the mountains of stone the two-legs pile up, and almost fear to dream to one another. You must go! _

“No,” Perrin said. “Faile is here, somewhere, trapped. I have to find her, Hopper. I have to!” He felt a shifting inside him, something changing. He looked down at his curly-haired legs, his wide paws. He was an even larger wolf than Hopper. It reminded him of that shameful incident with Raye, but his fear for Faile drove the shame from his mind, leaving only the need to hunt.

_ You are here too strongly! Every sending carried shock. You will die, Young Bull! _

_ If I do not free the falcon, I do not care, brother. _

_ Then we hunt, brother. _

Young Bull nosed about the wagon where his female slept. He did not need to prowl the whole perimeter before he caught a familiar scent. A cold and almost inhuman scent. Slayer had been here. A deep growl rumbled in his chest. He quartered the land around the wagon, seeking sign of Slayer or the falcon but finding none. It did not deter him. Wherever he had taken her, Young Bull would find them. Golden eyes met golden eyes. Hopper did not nod, but Young Bull felt his assent.

Noses to the wind, the two wolves ran across the plain, seeking the falcon.

Young Bull took one of those long strides—the land blurred around him—and alighted in a farmyard. Two or three chickens scattered, running as if they had already gone feral. The rock-walled sheepfold stood empty, and both thatch-roofed barns were barred shut. Despite curtains still at the windows, the two-story farmhouse had the look of emptiness. If this was a true reflection of the waking world—and the wolf dream usually was, in an odd way—the people here had been gone for days. Faile was right; his warning had spread beyond the places he had gone.

Seeking to see how far the word had spread, he zigzagged more than halfway to Deven Ride, a mile or more at a stride, doubling back and crisscrossing his own path. Most farms he saw had that same emptiness; less than one in five showed signs of habitation, doors open and windows up, wash hung out on a line, dolls or hoops or carved wooden horses lying around a doorstep. The toys especially made his stomach clench. Even if they had not believed his warning, surely there were enough burned farms about to tell them the same, tumbled heaps of charred timbers, soot-black chimneys like stark, dead fingers.

Flashes of black in the sky drew his eye. Ravens, twenty or thirty together, winging toward the Westwood. Toward the Mountains of Mist, where he had first seen Slayer. He watched coldly while the ravens dwindled to black specks and disappeared. Then he set off after them, with Hopper at his side.

Long, racing strides carried them five miles each, the land a blur except in the moment between one step and the next, into the thick-treed, rocky Westwood, across the scrub-covered Sand Hills, into the cloud-capped mountains, where fir and pine and leatherleaf forested valleys and slopes, to the very valley where he had first seen the man Hopper called Slayer, to the mountainside where he had returned home.

The Waygate stood there, closed, the  _ Avendesora _ leaf seemingly just one among a myriad of intricately carved leaves and vines. Scattered trees, wizened and wind-sculpted, dotted the sparse soil among the glazed stone where Manetheren had been burned away. Sunlight sparkled on the waters of the Manetherendrelle below. A faint wind up the valley brought him the scent of deer, rabbits, foxes. Nothing moved that he could see.

On the point of leaving, he stopped. The  _ Avendesora _ leaf. One leaf. Loial had locked the Waygate by placing both leaves on this side. He turned, and his hackles rose. The Waygate stood open, twin masses of living greenery stirring in the breeze, exposing that dull silvery surface; his reflection shimmered in it.  _ How? _ he wondered.  _ Loial locked the bloody thing _ .

Unaware of crossing the distance, suddenly he was right at the Waygate. There was no trefoil leaf among the verdant tangle on the inside of the two gates. Strange to think that at that moment, in the waking world, someone—or something—was passing through where he stood. He touched the dull surface with his nose but it might as well have been a mirror; his nose slid across it as across the smoothest glass.

From the corner of his eye he caught the  _ Avendesora _ leaf suddenly in its place on the inside, and leaped back just as the Waygate began swinging shut. Someone—or something—had come out, or gone in.  _ Out. It has to be out _ . He wanted to doubt that it was more Trollocs, and Fades, coming into the Theren. The gates merged, became stone carvings again.

A sense of being watched was all the warning they had. He and Hopper jumped—a half-seen image of black streaking through where Young Bull’s chest had been; an arrow—jumped in one of those world-blurring stretches, landed on a far slope and jumped again, out of the valley of Manetheren into a stand of towering fir, and again.  _ Running _ , he thought furiously, picturing the valley in his mind, and that brief glimpse of the arrow. It had come from that direction, at that angle when it reached him, so it had to have come from ...

A final bound took him back onto a slope above Manetheren’s grave, crouching among meagre, wind-slanted pines, once more a man, and one with bow in hand and an arrow ready to draw. Hopper crouched low at his feet. Below them, among the stunted trees and boulders, the arrow had been fired. Slayer had to be down there somewhere. He had to be down ...

_ Move! _ Perrin sent, and then leaped away a split second after Hopper faded from his view. The mountains a smear of grey and brown and green. “Almost,” he growled. Almost, he had duplicated his mistake in the Waterwood, thinking again an enemy would move to suit him, wait where he wanted.

This time he ran as hard as he could, only three flashing strides to the edge of the Sand Hills hoping he had not been seen. This time he circled wide, coming back higher on that same mountainside, up where the air felt thin and cold and the few trees were thick-trunked bushes fifty paces or more apart, up above where a man might set himself to watch for another who meant to sneak up on the place that arrow had fired.

And there his quarry was, a hundred paces below, dark-haired and dark-coated, a tall man crouched beside a table-sized granite outcrop, his own half-drawn bow in hand, studying the slope farther down with eager patience. This was the first time Perrin had gotten a good look at him; a hundred paces was little distance for his eyes. This Slayer’s high-collared coat had a Borderland cut and his face looked enough like Lan’s to be the Warder’s brother’s. Only Lan had no brothers—no living kin at all, that Perrin knew—and if he had had any, they would not have been here. A Borderlander, though. Maybe Shienaran, though his hair was long, not shaved to a topknot, and was held back by a braided leather cord just like Lan’s. He could not be Malkieri; Lan was the last living Malkieri.

Wherever he came from, Perrin felt no compunction at all in drawing his bow, broadhead point aimed at Slayer’s back. The man had tried to kill him from ambush. A downhill shot could be tricky.

Perhaps he had taken too long, or perhaps the fellow felt his cold gaze, but suddenly Slayer became a blur, streaking away east.

With a curse, Perrin pursued, three strides to the Sand Hills, another into the Westwood. Among the oaks and leatherleaf and underbrush, Slayer seemed to vanish.

Halting, Perrin listened. Silence. The squirrels and birds had gone still. He inhaled deeply. A small herd of deer had passed that way not long since. And a faint tinge of something, human but too cold for a man, too emotionless, a scent that tickled his mind with familiarity. Slayer was somewhere close. The air lay as still as the forest; no stir of breeze to tell him which way that scent came.

“A neat trick, Goldeneyes, locking the Waygate.”

Perrin tensed, ears straining. No telling from where in this dense growth that voice had come. Not so much as a leaf rustled.

“If you knew how many of the Shadowwrought died trying to get out of the Ways there, it would lift your heart.  _ Machin Shin _ feasted at that gate, Goldeneyes. But not a good enough trick. You saw: the gate is open now.”

There, off to the right. Perrin slipped through the trees as silently as he had when he had hunted here.

“It was only a few hundred to begin, Goldeneyes. Just enough to keep those fool Whitecloaks off balance and see that the renegade died.” Slayer’s voice became angry. “The Shadow consume me if that man does not have more luck than the White Tower.” Abruptly he chuckled. “But you, Goldeneyes. Your presence was a surprise. There are those who want your head on a pike. They want her whelp too, even if they can’t seem to decide exactly what they want done with him. Your precious Theren will be harrowed from end to end, now, to root you out. What do you say to that, Goldeneyes?”

Perrin froze close beside the gnarled trunk of a great oak. Why was the man talking so much? Why was he talking at all?  _ He’s drawing me right to him _ .

Putting his back against the oak’s thick bole, he studied the forest. No movement. Slayer wanted him to come nearer. No doubt into an ambush. And he wanted to find the man and rip his throat out. Yet it could easily be himself who died, and if that happened, no-one would know the Waygate was open, and Trollocs coming by hundreds, maybe even thousands. He would not play Slayer’s game. He had the man’s scent, and he knew where he had been.

Young Bull felt no shame at retreating. Unlike men, wolves did not let pride force them to foolishness. He backtracked to the mountain where Slayer had waited in ambush, and found Hopper waiting for him there.  _ What slowed you? _ Young Bull avoided answering the old wolf’s question. He snuffled the ground for a moment, before jumping off again, chasing the falcon.

Slayer’s scent led him to a place at once familiar and yet alien. The burnt remains of the Aybara farm shouldn’t have been enough to offer shelter to anyone, but on them stood a squat, windowless hut of rough grey stone. He knew no such place existed in the real world. And the two men in the strange armour who stood outside the single door into that hut were certainly no Thereners. He smelled the falcon’s scent on the wind. There was no decision made; he simply moved.

The land fell silent as the final dying scream was cut off by Young Bull’s jaws closing on the two-legs’s throat, crushing it. The blood was bitter on his tongue. The two-legs lying around him, one kicking his last with Hopper’s teeth buried in his throat, had smelled rank with fear as they fought. They had smelled confused. He did not think they had known where they were—they certainly did not belong in the wolf dream—but they had been set to keep him from that tall door ahead, with its iron lock. To guard it, at least. They had seemed startled to see wolves. He thought they had been startled at being there themselves.

He wiped his mouth, then stared at his hand with a momentary lack of comprehension. He was a man again. He was Perrin. Back in his own body, in the blacksmith’s vest, with the heavy hammer at his side.

_ We must hurry, Young Bull. Slayer is near _ .

Perrin pulled the hammer from his belt as he strode to the door. “Faile must be here.” One sharp blow shattered the lock. He kicked open the door.

The room was empty except for a long stone block in the middle of the floor. Faile lay on that block as if sleeping, her black hair spread out like a fan, her body so wrapped in chains that it took him a moment to realize she was unclothed. Every chain was held to the stone by a thick bolt.

He was hardly aware of crossing the space until his hand touched her face, tracing her cheekbone with a finger.

She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. “I kept dreaming you would come, blacksmith.”

“I will have you free in a moment, Faile.” He raised his hammer, smashed one of the bolts as if it were wood.

“I was sure of it. Perrin.”

As his name faded from her tongue, she faded, too. With a clatter, the chains dropped to the stone where she had been.

“No!” he cried. “I found her!”

_ The dream is not like the world of flesh, Young Bull. Here, the same hunt can have many endings _ .

He did not turn to look at Hopper. He knew his teeth were bared in a snarl. Again he raised the hammer, brought it down with all his strength against the chains that had held Faile. The stone block cracked in two under his blow; the Stone itself rang like a stuck bell. “Then I will hunt again,” he growled.

Hammer in hand, Perrin strode out of the room with Hopper beside him. Slayer was still out there. And men, he knew, were crueller hunters than ever wolves were. Hopper trotted by his side, sniffing the air. As sharp as Perrin’s nose was, the wolf’s was sharper.

Perrin wondered whether he was ever going to free her in truth. “Find her,” Perrin told him. “That is all I ask. Find Faile.”

_ You are here too strongly, Young Bull. The flesh weakens. You do not care to hold on to it enough. Soon flesh and dream will die together _ .

Yellow eyes met yellow eyes. The wolf turned and trotted away. Perrin followed.

It wasn’t to a house in the Theren that Hopper finally led him. Perrin had let his man’s perspective cloud his judgement. The place Hopper sought wasn’t even in the Theren at all. Perrin had never seen anything like it before. It was a fortress, that was plain by the weapons hanging from stands in every corridor and by the harsh cut of the thick stone walls. But this fortress was decorated as though it were a queen’s palace. Hopper led him through the stone hallways, sniffing the air constantly. That air was warmer than he was used to at this time of year.

Hopper quickened his steps suddenly, heading for a set of tall doors, these clad in bronze. Perrin tried to match the pace, stumbled, and fell to his knees, throwing out a hand to catch himself short of dropping on his face. Weakness washed through him as if all his muscles had gone to water. Even after the feeling receded, it took some of his strength with it. It was an effort to struggle to his feet. Hopper had turned to look at him.

_ Beyond here, Young Bull _ .

Perrin reached the doors and pushed. They did not budge. There seemed to be no way to open them, no handles, nothing to grip. There was a tiny pattern worked into the metal, so fine his eyes almost did not see it. Falcons. Thousands of tiny falcons.

_ She has to be here. I do not think I can last much longer _ . With a shout, he swung his hammer against the bronze. It rang like a great gong. Again he struck, and the peal deepened. A third blow, and the bronze doors shattered like glass.

Within, a hundred paces from the broken doors, a circle of light surrounded a falcon chained to a perch. Darkness filled all the rest of that vast chamber, darkness and faint rustlings as of hundreds of wings.

He took a step into the room, and a falcon stooped out of the murk, talons scoring his face as it passed. He threw an arm across his eyes—talons tore at his forearm—and staggered toward the perch. Again and again the birds came, falcons diving, striking him, tearing him, but he lumbered on with blood pouring down his arms and shoulders, that one arm protecting the eyes he had fixed on the falcon on the perch. He had lost the hammer; he did not know where, but he knew that if he went back to search, he would die before he found it.

As he reached the perch, the slicing talons drove him to his knees. He peered up under his arm at the falcon on the perch, and she stared back with dark, unblinking eyes. The chain that held her leg was fastened to the perch with a tiny lock. He seized the chain with both hands, careless of the other falcons that now became a whirlwind of cutting talons around him, and with his last strength snapped it. The bright falcon winked out of his sight, like a candle that had been suddenly extinguished.

There was a sudden yelp, and Perrin felt another candle wink out. Confused, he turned back towards the entrance. Through a gap between the arms he held up to protect his face from the slicing talons of those furious raptors he saw another hunter, and a much more sinister one.

Slayer’s eyes were as blue as Lan’s, but so cold as to make the Warder seem a jolly and friendly man. Those unblinking eyes watched Perrin down the shaft of the drawn arrow that he held aimed at his heart. “Freeing the girl wins you nothing,” he said. “She was just the bait.” Hopper lay at the man’s feet, a black arrow protruding from his chest. His golden eyes were open, staring lifelessly at nothing.

“No!” Perrin roared. What happened to a wolf that died here? What happened when not just the body, but the spirit itself was slain? And what would happen to a man who met the same fate? Terror shot through him. He saw Slayer release his hold on the arrow as though the man were on the other side of a Waygate; he and everything else around them, even the flapping wings of the falcons, moving slowly, so slowly. Perrin knew with crystal clarity that if that arrow struck him he would die. How many times had Hopper told him to stay out of the wolf dream? How many times had he refused to listen? And now his friend had paid the price for it. Hot tears spilled from Perrin’s eyes as he recalled all the times Hopper had saved him, showing him how to move through the dream, and forcing him to leave it. The arrow sped towards his chest just as Perrin had once sped towards the rocks below a cliff that Hopper had pushed him from. Then, as now, the dream ended before he met his bloody fate.

He opened his eyes to stinging agony, as if his face and arms and shoulders had been sliced with a thousand knives. Daylight streamed in at the small windows. Bright light. Morning. A dull pain filled his side. It did not matter. Faile was kneeling over him, those dark, tilted eyes filled with worry, wiping his face with a cloth already soaked in his blood.

“My poor Perrin,” she said softly. “My poor blacksmith. You are hurt so badly.”

With an effort that cost more pain, he turned his head. “Faile,” he whispered to her. “My falcon.”

Faile did not gloat at finally making him call her by the name she had chosen, she just kept dabbing gently at the cuts on his body. Those cuts didn’t matter. He would live. And—thank the Light—she would, too. But ...

“He killed Hopper,” Perrin grated. He couldn’t stop the tears that spilled from his eyes.

With Faile it didn’t matter; she’d seen him cry before. But just then he realised he was not alone. “Lie still,” Rand said. “You were thrashing in your sleep. We had to hold you down to keep you from rolling over and driving that arrow the rest of the way through you. Move around too much and you still might.” Hurin was with him, looking concerned. And Ila was there, too, with a bundle of towels in her arms. She bustled over to offer them to Faile.

“Help me up,” Perrin said, blinking back his tears. Talking hurt, but so did breathing, and he had to talk. “I have to get to the mountains. To the Waygate.”

Faile put a hand to his forehead, frowning. “No fever,” she murmured. Then, more strongly, “You are going to Emond’s Field, where one of the Aes Sedai can Heal you. You are not going to kill yourself trying to ride into the mountains with an arrow in you. Do you hear me? If I hear one more word about mountains or Waygates, I will have Ila mix something that will put you back to sleep, and you will travel on a litter. I’m not certain you should not anyway.”

“The Trollocs, Faile! The Waygate is open again! I have to stop them!”

The woman did not even hesitate before shaking her head. “You can do nothing about it, the state you are in. It is Emond’s Field for you.”

“But—!”

“But me no buts, Perrin Aybara. Not another word on it.”

He ground his teeth. The worst was that she was right. If he could not rise from a bed alone, how could he stay in the saddle as far as Manetheren? “Emond’s Field,” he said graciously, but she still sniffed and muttered something about “pigheaded.”  _ What did she want? I was bloody gracious, burn her for stubborn! _

“Am I the only one who sees the danger?” Perrin muttered.

“I see an arrow in you,” Faile said firmly.

The reminder gave him a twinge; he just stifled a groan. And she gave a satisfied nod. Satisfied!

Rand didn’t give him that kind of grief. “No, you’re right,” he said solemnly. “The Waygate will need to be closed again. Perhaps permanently, if such a thing is even possible. I’ll talk to Loial about it as soon as we get back.”

“The Ogier or Moiraine Sedai would know, if anyone would,” Hurin agreed with a firm nod.

He wanted to be up and on the way immediately; the sooner he was Healed, the sooner he could help Rand see to closing the Waygate again, permanently this time. While Rand and the others went to organise their departure, Faile insisted on feeding Perrin breakfast, a broth thick with mashed vegetables suitable for a toothless infant, one spoon at a time, with pauses to wipe his chin. She would not let him feed himself, and whenever he protested or asked her to go faster, she shoved the words back into his mouth with a spoonful of pap. She would not even let him wash his own face. By the time she got around to brushing his hair and combing his beard, he had settled on dignified silence.

“You are pretty when you sulk,” she said. And pinched his nose!

Ila climbed into the wagon with his coat and shirt, both cleaned and mended. To his irritation, he had to let the two women help him don them. He even had to let them help him sit up to don them, the coat unbuttoned and the shirt not tucked in, but bunched around the arrow stub.

“Thank you, Ila,” he said, fingering the neat darns. “This is fine needlework.”

“It is,” she agreed. “Faile has a deft touch with a needle.”

Faile coloured, and he grinned, thinking of how fiercely she had told him she would never mend his clothes. A glint in her eye held his tongue. Sometimes silence was the wiser course. “Thank you, Faile,” he said gravely instead. She blushed even redder.

Once they had him on his feet he reached the door easily enough, but he had to let the two women half-support him to climb down the wooden steps. At least the horses were saddled, and all the Theren lads gathered, bows slung on their backs. With clean faces and clothes, and only a few bandages out where they showed.

A night with the  _ Tuatha’an _ had obviously been good for their spirits, too, even those who still looked as though they could not walk a hundred paces. The haggardness that had been in their eyes yesterday was only a shadow now. Perrin wished he could share in their good spirits, but thoughts of another spirit, one perhaps lost forever, hammered against his heart. Wil had his arms around a pretty, big-eyed Tinker girl, of course, and Ban al’Seen, with his nose and a bandage around his head making his dark hair stand up in a brush, held hands with another smiling shyly. Most of the others held bowls of thick vegetable stew and spoons, shovelling away.

“This is good, Perrin,” Dannil said, giving up his empty bowl to a Tinker woman. She gestured as if to ask the beanpole fellow whether he wanted more, and he shook his head, but said, “I don’t think I could ever get enough of it, do you?”

“I had my fill,” Perrin told him sourly. Mashed vegetables and broth.

“The Tinker girls danced last night,” Dannil’s brother Tell said, wide-eyed. “All the unmarried women, and some of the married! You should have seen it, Perrin.”

“I’ve seen Tinker women dance before, Tell.”

Apparently he had not kept his voice clear of what he had felt watching them, for Faile said dryly, “You’ve seen the  _ tiganza _ , have you? Someday, if you are good, I may dance the  _ sa’sara _ for you, and show you what a dance really is.” Ila gasped in recognition of the name, and Faile went even redder than she had inside.

Perrin pursed his lips. If this  _ sa’sara _ set the heart pounding any harder than the Tinker women’s swaying, hip-rolling dance—the  _ tiganza _ , was it?—he definitely would like to see Faile dance it. He carefully did not look at her.

Rand was off with his Shienarans, armouring up. They should be ready to go soon. Raine Cinclare was there, too, standing with a pretty  _ Tuatha’an _ girl as short as she was. They were watching Rand get ready to leave. The Tinker wore only her bright skirt and blouse, but Raine had an overflowing satchel at her booted feet and a determined look on her face.

Even at that distance, Perrin’s ears were able to pick their words out of the general babble. “I am glad for you,” Raine was saying. “You deserve to receive the best cocks.”

“Raine! You shouldn’t say such things!” gasped the  _ Tuatha’an _ , very rightly.

“I shouldn’t?”

“No!”

“Oh. Did you enjoy being mated by him?”

“And you shouldn’t say that either!”

Perrin shook his head. He wasn’t sure of the details, but he suspected Rand had been up to his old tricks again.

Sara Aythes appeared, with Saml Torfinn of all people. Emi hung between them, her arms around their shoulders and the stumps of her legs hanging free. She looked embarrassed at being carried so, and even more embarrassed at the way Saml had to paw at her to push her up into the saddle with Sara. Perrin tried to focus on the good things, on Faile and those others who still lived, but all the death that was piling up around them weighed heavy on his shoulders. He thought he understood that saying Lan kept going on about. Duty really was heavier than a mountain sometimes.

Raen came, in the same bright green coat but trousers redder than any red Perrin had ever seen before. The combination made his head ache. “Twice you have visited our fires, Perrin, and for the second time you go without a farewell feast. You must come again soon so we can make up for it.”

Pushing away from Faile and Ila—he could stand by himself, at least—he put a hand on the wiry man’s shoulder. “Come with us, Raen. No-one in Emond’s Field will harm you. At worst it’s safer than out here with the Trollocs.”

Raen hesitated, then shook himself, muttering, “I do not know how you can even make me consider such things.” Turning, he spoke loudly. “People, Perrin has asked us to come with him to his village, where we will be safe from Trollocs. Who wishes to go?” Shocked faces stared back at him. Some women gathered their children close, and the children hid in their skirts, as if the very idea frightened them. “You see, Perrin?” Raen said. “For us, safety lies in moving, not in villages. I assure you, we do not spend two nights in one place, and we will travel all day before stopping again.”

“That may not be enough, Raen.”

The  _ Mahdi _ shrugged. “Your concern warms me, but we will be safe, if the Light wills it.”

“The Way of the Leaf is not only to do no violence,” Ila said gently, “but to accept what comes. The leaf falls in its proper time, uncomplaining. The Light will keep us safe for our time.”

Perrin wanted to argue with them, but behind all the warmth and compassion on their faces lay a stony firmness. He thought he would get Bain and Chiad to don dresses and give up their spears—or Gaul to!—before he made these people budge an inch.

Raen shook Perrin’s hand, and with that the Tinker women began hugging the Theren lads and the Tinker men began shaking hands, all laughing and saying goodbyes and wishing everyone a safe journey, hoping they would come again. Almost all the men did. Aram stood off to one side, frowning to himself, hands thrust into his coat pockets. The last time Perrin met him he had seemed to have a sour streak, odd for a Tinker.

Rand got a hug from the little Tinker girl that Raine had spoken to as well. He looked surprised that she would approach him openly like that, but when she wrapped her arms around him, he hugged her back warmly, with a big grin on his face.

The men did not content themselves with shaking Faile’s hand, but hugged her. Perrin kept his face smooth when some of the younger men became overly enthusiastic, only grinding his teeth a little; he managed to smile. No woman much younger than Ila hugged him. Somehow, even while Faile was letting some skinny, gaudy-coated Tinker fold his arms around her and try to squeeze her flat, she stood guard on him like a mastiff. Women without grey in their hair took one look at her face and chose someone else. Meanwhile Wil appeared to be kissing every woman in the camp. So was Ban and his nose. Even some of the Shienarans were enjoying themselves, though most looked discomforted by such a public display of affection. Sensible men, Shienarans. It would serve Faile right if one of those fellows cracked a rib for her.

Anna got no hugs. But that might have had something to do with the way she stood there with her feet planted as though ready to fight, her arms folded across her chest and a solemn look on her face, looking preoccupied about something.

Finally the Tinkers moved back, except for Raen and Ila, opening a space around the Theren folk. The wiry, grey-haired man bowed formally, hands to chest. “You came in peace. Depart now in peace. Always will our fires welcome you. The Way of the Leaf is peace.”

“Peace be on you always,” Perrin replied, “and on all the People.”  _ Light, let it be so _ . “I will find the song, or another will find the song, but the song will be sung, this year or in a year to come.” He wondered if there ever had been a song, or if the  _ Tuatha’an _ had begun their endless journey seeking something else. Elyas had told him they did not know what song, only that they would know it when they found it.  _ Let them find safety, at least. At least that _ . “As it once was, so shall it be again, world without end.”

“World without end,” the  _ Tuatha’an _ responded in a solemn murmur. “World and time without end.”

A few final hugs and handshakes were handed ’round while Dannil and Faile were helping Perrin up on Stepper. A few last kisses collected by Wil. And Ban. Ban! And his nose! Others, the badly wounded, were half-lifted onto their horses, with Tinkers waving as if to old neighbours off on a long journey.

Raen came to shake Perrin’s hand. “Will you not reconsider?” Perrin asked. “I remember hearing you say once there was wickedness loose in the world. It’s worse now, Raen, and here.”

“Peace be on you, Perrin,” Raen replied, smiling.

“And on you,” he said sadly.

Raen’s wife wasn’t with him. Instead, she was off speaking to his namesake. Cinclare had a stubborn look on her face, and was shaking her head. That bonnet looked unnatural on her. Perrin wondered if the hair under it was shorn as close to the scalp as he recalled it being. Whatever Ila’s calm but earnest words were, they could not stop Raine from shouldering her satchel. The old woman put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. There was a wary look, a short question and an equally short answer, and then Raine was hugging Ila, her face pressed against the older woman’s bosom. Whatever passed between them though, when Rand marched over to join the mounted men, Raine scampered after him.

The Aiel did not appear until they were a mile north of the Tinker camp, Bain and Chiad looking to Faile before trotting ahead to their usual place. Perrin was not sure what they thought might have happened to her among  _ Tuatha’an _ .

Gaul moved in beside Stepper, striding easily. The party was not moving very fast, with nearly half the men walking. “Your injury is well?”

His injury hurt like fury; every step his horse took jolted that arrowhead. He told himself it was the least he deserved for getting Hopper killed. “I feel fine,” he said aloud, not gritting his teeth. “Maybe we’ll have a dance in Emond’s Field tonight. And you? Did you pass a good night playing Maidens’ Kiss?” Gaul stumbled and nearly fell on his face. “What is the matter?”

“Who did you hear suggest this game?” the Aielman said quietly, staring straight ahead.

“Chiad. Why?”

“Chiad,” Gaul muttered. “The woman is Goshien. Goshien! I should take her back to Hot Springs as  _ gai’shain _ .” The words sounded angry, but not his odd tone. “Chiad.”

“Will you tell me what is the matter?”

“A Myrddraal has less cunning than a woman,” Gaul said in a flat voice, “and a Trolloc fights with more honour.” After a moment he added, in a fierce undertone, “And a goat has more sense.” Quickening his pace, he ran forward to join the two Maidens. He did not speak to them, as far as Perrin could make out, only slowed to walk alongside.

“Did you understand any of that?” Perrin asked Uno.

The Shienaran shook his head. “Aiel,” was all he said. Perrin wasn’t sure if he meant to make the word a curse, or if Uno’s usual way of speaking just did that naturally.

Faile sniffed. “If he thinks to make trouble for them, they will hang him by his heels from a branch to cool off.”

“Did you understand it?” Perrin asked her. She walked along, neither looking at him nor answering, which he took to mean she did not. “I think I might have to find Raen’s camp again. It has been a long time since I saw the  _ tiganza _ . It was ... interesting.”

She muttered something under her breath, but he caught it: “You could do with hanging by the heels yourself!”

He smiled down at the top of her head. “But I won’t have to. You promised to dance this  _ sa’sara _ for me.” Her face went crimson. “Is it anything close to the  _ tiganza _ ? I mean, there is no point otherwise.” Uno snorted knowingly and grinned at him the way he might have at some fool recruit who was about to slip into the middens.

“You muscle-brained oaf!” Faile snapped, glaring up at Perrin. “Men have thrown their hearts and fortunes at the feet of women who danced the  _ sa’sara _ . If Mother suspected I knew it—” Her teeth clicked shut as though she had said too much, and her head whipped back to face forward; scarlet mortification covered her from her dark hair down to the neck of her dress.

“Then there isn’t any reason for you to dance it,” he said quietly. “My heart and fortune, such as they are, already lie at your feet. My beloved falcon.”

Faile missed a step, then laughed softly and pressed her cheek against his booted calf. “You are too clever for me,” she murmured. “One day I will dance it for you, and boil the blood in your veins.”

“You already do that,” he said, and she laughed again. Pushing her arm behind his stirrup, she hugged his leg to her as she walked.


	54. Care for the Living

CHAPTER 51: Care for the Living

After a while even the thought of Faile dancing—he extrapolated from the Tinker dance; it must be something to top that—could not compete with the pain in his side. Every stride Stepper took was agony. He held himself upright. It seemed to hurt a fraction less that way. Besides, he did not want to spoil the lift the  _ Tuatha’an _ had given everyone’s spirits. The other men were sitting up straight in their saddles, too, even those who had been hunched over and clinging the day before. And Ban and Dannil and the others walked with heads up. He would not be the first to slump.

Wil began to whistle “Coming Home from Tarwin’s Gap”, and three or four more took it up. After a time, Ban began to sing in a clear, deep voice.

“ _ My home is waiting there for me, and the girl I left behind. _

_ Of all the treasure that waits for me, _

_ that’s what I want to find. _

_ Her eyes so merry, and her smile so sweet, her hugs so warm, and her ankle neat, _

_ her kisses hot, now there’s a treat. _

_ If there’s a treasure greater, it lies not in my mind _ .”

More joined in on the second verse, until almost everyone sang, even Rand. And Faile. And Emi, Light bless her. Not Perrin, of course; he had been told often enough that he sounded like a stepped-on frog, singing. Some even fell into step with the music.

“ _ Oh, I have seen stark Tarwin’s Gap, and the Trollocs’ raving horde. _

_ I have stood ’fore the Halfman’s charge, and walked on death’s cold borde. _

_ But a winsome lass, she waits for me, _

_ for a dance, and a kiss ’neath the apple tree ... _ ”

Perrin shook his head. A day before they had been ready to run and hide. Today they sang, about a battle so long ago that it had left no memory but this song in the Theren. Perhaps they were becoming soldiers. They would have to, unless they managed to close that Waygate.

Rand’s good cheer inspired some of the other Theren men to speak to him, and his amiable response seemed to reassure them. At first. Wil spoiled that a bit when he came to walk at Rand’s side and shared a conspiratorial grin with him.

“I think maybe we were wrong about the Tinkers,” Perrin heard Wil say. “I mean, if I’d known Tinker girls were such sluts I’d have welcomed them visiting the Theren, right Rand?”

Rand’s smile faded fast. He set his jaw. “I take it you weren’t able to fight her off, Wil?” he said in a neutral voice.

Wil laughed. “I didn’t want to!” He slapped Rand on the shoulder companionably, completely missing the point.

Rand said nothing in response, he just stared at Wil with those icy grey eyes of his until the other lad—one three years older than them, come to think of it—paled, lowered his gaze to the ground, and finally dropped back to walk with someone else. Rand didn’t look back. He just strode along at the head of their party in that solemn black coat of his, a sword balancing the quiver at his side, and his strung longbow in hand, while the Theren lads muttered to each other about how strange he had gotten.

Farms began to appear more often, closer together, until they travelled along hard-packed dirt between fields bordered by hedges or low, rough stone walls. Abandoned farms. No-one here clung to the land.

They came to the Old Road, which ran north from the White River, the Manetherendrelle, through Deven Ride to Emond’s Field, and at last began to see sheep in the pastures, great clumps like a dozen men’s flocks gathered together, with ten shepherds where there once would have been one, and half of them grown men. Bow-armed shepherds watched them pass, singing at the tops of their lungs, not knowing quite what to make of it.

Perrin did not know what to make of his first view of Emond’s Field, and neither did the other Theren men, from the way their singing faltered and died.

The trees, fences and hedges closest to the village were simply gone, cleared away. The westernmost houses of Emond’s Field had once stood among the trees on the edge of the Westwood. The oaks and leatherleaf between the houses remained, but now the forest’s brim stood five hundred paces away, a long bowshot, and axes rang loud as men pushed it back farther. Row on row of waist-high stakes, driven into the ground at an angle, surrounded the village a little out from the houses and presented a continuous hedge of sharpened points, except where the road ran in. At intervals behind the stakes men stood like sentries, some wearing bits of old armour or leather shirts sewn with rusty steel discs, a few in dented old steel caps, with boar spears, or halberds rooted out of attics, or bush hooks fitted to long poles. Other men, and boys, were up on some of the thatched roofs with bows; they stood when they saw Perrin and the others coming, and shouted to people below.

Beside the road behind the stakes stood a contraption of wood and thick, twisted rope, with a nearby pile of stones bigger than a man’s head. Uno noticed Perrin frowning at it as they came closer. “Catapult,” he said. “Six, so far. Your bloody carpenters knew what to do once we showed them. The stakes will hold off charging Trollocs or Whitecloaks, either one.” He might have been discussing the prospects for more rain.

“I told you your village was preparing to defend itself.” Faile sounded fiercely proud, as though it were her village. “A hard people, for such a soft land. They could almost be Saldaean. Moiraine said Manetheren’s blood runs strong here still.” Perrin could only shake his head.

The hard-packed dirt streets were nearly crowded enough for a city, the gaps between houses filled with carts and wagons, and through open doors and unshuttered windows he could see more people. The crowd parted before the Aiel and Shienarans, and rustling whispers accompanied them along the street. Some of those they passed stared at the outsiders, others stared at Rand, and a few frowned at the yellow-eyed wolfsister who trailed him like a lost puppy. But most of them were looking at Perrin.

“It’s Perrin Goldeneyes.” “Perrin Goldeneyes.” “Perrin Goldeneyes.”

He wished they would not do that. These people knew him, some of them. What did they think they were doing? There was horse-faced Neysa Ayellin, who had paddled his ten-year-old backside that time Mat talked him into stealing one of her gooseberry pies. And there was pink-cheeked, big-eyed Cilia Cole, the first girl he had ever kissed and still pleasingly plump, and Pel Aydaer, with his pipe and his bald head, who had taught Perrin how to catch trout with his hands, and Daisy Congar herself, a tall, wide woman who made Alsbet Luhhan seem soft, with her husband Wit, a scrawny man overshadowed as always by his wife. Daisy was one of those who focused more on Rand, but she still spared time to stare at Perrin as though he were a stranger. They were all staring at him, and whispering to the people from off, who might not know who he was. When old Cenn Buie lifted a little boy up on his shoulder, pointing at Perrin and talking enthusiastically to the boy, Perrin groaned. They had all gone mad.

Townsfolk trailed after Perrin and the others, around them, in a parade that rode a swell of murmurs. Chickens scurried every which way under people’s feet. Bawling calves and pigs squealing in pens behind the houses competed with the noise of the humans. Sheep crowded the Green, and black-and-white milkcows cropped the grass in company with flocks of geese, grey and white.

And in the middle of the Green rose a tall pole, the red-bordered white banner at its peak rippling lazily, displaying a red wolf’s head. He looked at Faile, but she shook her head, as surprised as he. Rand stopped in his tracks when he saw the banner, and a wan smile crossed his lips.

“A symbol.”

Perrin had not heard Moiraine approach, though now he caught hushed whispers of “Aes Sedai” floating around her. People stared at her with awe-filled eyes. That awe didn’t stop Lan, who hovered near her back, from watching them all with a cold look in his eye. Watching them didn’t stop him from noticing the way Perrin frowned at him either. The merest quirk of the Warder’s eyebrow indicated his surprise. Perrin tried to smooth his face. Lan wasn’t Slayer ... but they surely looked alike.

“People need symbols,” Moiraine went on, resting a hand on Stepper’s shoulder. “When I told a few of the villagers how much Trollocs fear wolves, everyone seemed to think this banner a grand idea. Don’t you, Perrin?” Was there a dryness in her voice then? Her dark eyes looked up at him knowingly.

“I wonder what Queen Morgase will think of that,” Faile said. “This is part of Andor. Queens seldom like strange banners being raised in their realms.”

“That’s nothing but lines on a map,” Perrin told her. It was good to be still; the throbbing from the arrowhead seemed to have abated somewhat. “I did not even know we were supposed to be part of Andor until I went to Caemlyn. I doubt many people here do.”

“Rulers have a tendency to believe maps, Perrin.” There was no doubt of the dryness in Faile’s tone. “When I was a child, there were parts of Saldaea that had not seen a taxman in five generations. Once the Marshal-General could turn his attention from the Blight for a time, Tenobia made sure they knew who their queen was.”

“This is the Theren,” he said, grinning, “not Saldaea.” They did sound very fierce, up there in Saldaea.

“We don’t have queens in the Theren,” Anna said, almost angrily. “And we don’t have ladies or lords either. Whose fool idea was this?”

As Perrin turned back to Moiraine, his grin became a frown. He recalled how she had prodded Rand into becoming what he now was. It had started with a banner ... Perrin suspected he knew whose idea it was, and however well she guarded her face, he doubted she appreciated Anna calling her a fool. “I thought you and the others were ... hiding ... who you are.” He could not say which was more disturbing; Aes Sedai there in secret, or Aes Sedai in the open.

The Aes Sedai’s hand hovered an inch from the broken-off arrow jutting from his side. Something tingled around the wound. “Caught in the rib, and some infection in spite of that poultice,” she murmured. She pulled her hand back; the tingle went, too. “There is little point to hiding now, Perrin. Even if those Thereners who recall my last visit could be persuaded to hold their silence, this recent upsurge in Trolloc attacks will require us to do much more than hide in an old sickhouse.”

He hesitated, and finally sighed. “I suppose that’s true.”

She did not seem to hear his reluctance. Or did not care. “Now we need to see to that arrow in you. And these others need to be looked after, too. Alanna and I will see to the worst, but ...”

The men with him were as stunned by what they found here as he was. Ban scratched his head at the banner, and a few just stared around in amazement. Most looked at Moiraine, though, wide-eyed and uneasy; they had surely heard the whispers of “Aes Sedai”. Perrin was not escaping those looks entirely himself, he realized, talking to an Aes Sedai as though she were just any village woman.

Moiraine considered them right back, then suddenly, without seeming to look, reached behind her to snatch a girl of about ten or twelve out of the onlookers. The girl, her long dark hair caught up with blue ribbons, went rigid with shock. “Do you know Daisy Congar, girl?” Moiraine said. “Well, you are to find her and tell her there are injured men who require a Wisdom’s herbs. And tell her to jump. You tell her I’ll have no patience with her airs. Do you have that? Good. Off with you.”

Perrin did not recognize the girl, but evidently she did know Daisy, because she flinched at the message. But Moiraine was an Aes Sedai. After a moment of weighing—Daisy Congar against an Aes Sedai—the girl scampered away into the crowd.

Taking Stepper’s bridle, Moiraine led him to the Winespring Inn herself, the crowd melting back to let her through, then falling in after. Dannil and Ban and the others trailed along on horse and afoot, kin mingling with them now. Astounded as they were by the changes in Emond’s Field, the lads still showed their pride by striding even if they limped, or sitting up straighter in the saddle; they had faced Trollocs and come home. But women ran their hands over sons and nephews and grandsons, often biting back tears, and their low moans made a soft, pained murmur. Tight-eyed men tried to hide their worries behind proud smiles, clapping shoulders and exclaiming over newly begun beards, yet frequently their hugs just happened to turn into a shoulder to lean on. Sweethearts rushed in with kisses and loud cries, equal parts happiness and commiseration, and little brothers and sisters, uncertain, alternated between fits of weeping and clinging in wide-eyed wonder to a brother everyone seemed to be taking for a hero.

It was the other voices Perrin wished he could not hear.

“Where is Kenley?” Mistress Ahan was a handsome woman, with streaks of white in her nearly black braid, but she wore a fear-filled frown as she scanned faces and saw eyes flinch from hers. “Where’s my Kenley?”

“Bili!” old Hu called uncertainly. “Has anyone seen Bili al’Dai?”

Perrin saw Mistress Aydaer approach Rand, searching his face with widened eyes. She had a new baby clutched to her breast. A baby that would never know their brother now. Rand lowered his head and spoke quiet words. When the tears began to fall from her eyes, Perrin jerked his own away.

“... Hu ...!”

“... Tim ...!”

“... Colly ...!”

In front of the inn, Perrin fell out of the saddle in his need to escape those names, not even seeing whose hands caught him. “Get me inside!” he grated. “Inside!”

“... Teven ...!”

“... Haral ...!”

“... Had ...!”

The door cut off the heart-lost wails, and the cries of Dael al’Taron’s mother for someone to tell her where her son was.

_ In a Trolloc cookpot, Perrin thought as he was lowered into a chair in the common room. In a Trolloc’s belly, where I put him, Mistress al’Taron. Where I put him _ . Faile had his head in her hands, peering into his face worriedly.  _ Care for the living _ , he thought.  _ I’ll weep for the dead later. Later _ .

“I am all right,” he told her. “I just got a little light-headed dismounting. I’ve never been a good rider.” She did not seem to believe him.

“Can’t you do something?” she demanded, but when she looked around for the Aes Sedai, she found that Moiraine had not followed them into the inn. She’d be checking on Rand, Perrin didn’t doubt, making sure he hadn’t taken any injuries while outside her supervision.

The Winespring Inn’s common room had been turned into an armoury of sorts. Except in front of the fireplace, the walls were a solid mass of propped spears of every description, with the occasional halberd or bill mixed in, and some polearms with oddly shaped blades, many pitted and discoloured where old rust had been scoured away. Even more surprisingly, a barrel near the foot of the stairs held swords all jumbled together, most without scabbards and no two alike. Every attic within five miles must have been turned out for relics dust-covered for generations. Perrin would not have suspected there were five swords in the whole Theren. Before the Whitecloaks and Trollocs came, anyway.

Gaul took a place off to one side, near the stairs that led up to the inn’s rooms and the al’Veres’ living quarters, watching Perrin. On the other side of the room, watching Faile and all else, Bain and Chiad cradled their spears in the crook of an elbow and took a hipshot stance that seemed at once casual and yet balanced on the toes. Anna helped Sara to deposit Emi in a comfortably padded chair. Everyone else was still outside with Rand and Moiraine.

Luci appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a white apron and looking about with those huge blue eyes of hers that always made Perrin feel as though he’d done something wrong, no matter how clear his conscious was. It took her a moment to work up the nerve to speak, and even then it was in a voice so soft that Perrin was glad of his wolf-enhanced hearing. “I-Is the Lord back? Is everyone o-okay?”

“Rand’s fine, Luci. There ... There were losses, but you wouldn’t have known any of them.” Perrin had known them though, Light help him but he’d known them all.

“Oh.” She bit her lip before continuing. “I’m sorry for your l-losses, Master Aybara. I’d better tell Saeri that h-he’s back.” She finished in a rush and was gone again before Perrin could thank her.

“What happened to her?” Emi asked slowly. She seemed to have seen something in Luci that she recognised. Perrin grimaced. And why wouldn’t she, given what they had both experienced?

“Dark things,” he sighed. “Losses. None of which I have a right to tell anyone about.”

Emi nodded thoughtfully, while rubbing at the stumps of her legs as though they pained her still.  _ Where is that damned Aes Sedai? Faile thought those wounds might be infected _ .

The three young fellows who had carried Perrin in shifted their feet by the door, staring at him and the Aiel with equally wide eyes.

“The others,” Perrin said. “They need—”

“You need to relax,” said Anna firmly. She ignored the cool look Faile shot her. “They are with their families now. They’ll be taken care of.”

Perrin felt a stab of pain—the graves below the apple trees flashed in his mind—but he pushed it down.  _ Take care of the living _ , he reminded himself harshly.

Faile squeezed his hand. “You should be in bed.”

“Not yet,” Perrin told her irritably. “Does anyone know where Loial is?”

“The Ogier?” one of the three by the door said. Dav Ayellin was stockier than Mat, but he had that same twinkle in his dark eyes. He had the same rumpled, uncombed look about him as Mat, too. In the old days, what little mischief Mat did not get up to, Dav did, though Mat usually led the way. “He’s out with the men clearing back the Westwood. You’d think we were cutting down his brother every time we cut a tree, but he clears three to anybody else’s one with that monstrous axe he had Master Weyland make. If you want him, I saw Jaim Thane running to tell them you had come in. I’ll bet they all come to get a look at you.” Peering at the broken-off arrow, he winced and rubbed his own side in sympathy. “Does it hurt much?”

“It hurts enough,” Perrin said curtly. Coming to get a look at him.  _ What am I, a gleeman? _ “What about Luc? I don’t want to see him, but is he here?”

“I’m afraid not.” The second man, Elam Dowtry, rubbed his long nose. Incongruous with his farmer’s wool coat and his cowlick, he wore a sword at his belt; the hilt had been freshly wrapped in rawhide and the leather scabbard flaked and peeling. “Lord Luc is off hunting the Horn of Valere, I think. Or maybe Trollocs.”

Dav and Elam were Perrin’s friends, or had been, companions in hunting and fishing, both his age near enough, but their thrilled grins made them seem younger. Either Mat or Rand could have passed for five years older at least. Maybe he could, too.

“I hope he comes back soon,” Elam went on. “He has been showing me how to use a sword. Did you know he’s a Hunter for the Horn? And a king, if he had his rights. Of Andor, I hear.”

“Andor has queens,” Perrin muttered absently, meeting Faile’s gaze, “not kings.”

“So he is not here,” she said. Gaul shifted slightly; he looked ready to go hunting for Luc, his eyes blue ice. It would not have surprised Perrin to see Bain and Chiad veil themselves on the spot.

Elam shook his head. “No. Yesterday he led a delegation out to meet a Whitecloak patrol and told them Emond’s Field was closed to them. I hear he told them not to come within ten miles.”

“Yesterday,” Perrin breathed. If Luc had come back to the village yesterday, it was not likely he could have had anything to do with Trollocs being where they were not expected, or with the attack on Faile. The more Perrin thought about how that ambush turned around, the more he thought the Trollocs must have been expecting them. And the more he wanted to blame Luc. “Wanting won’t make a stone cheese,” he muttered. “But he still smells like cheese to me.”

Dav and the other two looked at each other doubtfully. Perrin supposed he must not seem to be making much sense.

“It was a bunch of Coplins, mainly,” the third fellow said in a startlingly deep voice. “Darl and Hari and Dag and Ewal. And Wit Congar. Daisy gave him a fit over it.”

“I heard they all liked the Whitecloaks.” Perrin thought the bass-voiced fellow seemed familiar. He was younger than Elam and Dav by two or three years yet an inch taller, lean-faced but with wide shoulders.

“They did.” The fellow laughed. “You know them. They drift naturally toward anything that makes trouble for somebody else. Since Lord Luc has been talking, they’re all for marching up to Watch Hill and telling the Whitecloaks to get out of the Theren. Anyway, they’re for somebody else marching up there. I think they mean to be well back in the pack.”

If that face had been pudgy, and half a foot or more nearer the ground ... “Adan al’Caar!” Perrin exclaimed. It could not be; Adan was a stout, squeaky little nuisance who tried to crowd in whenever the older fellows got together. Mat had teased him mercilessly. This lad would be as big as he was, or bigger, by the time he stopped growing. “Is that you?”

Adan nodded with a broad grin. “We’ve been hearing all about you, Perrin,” he said in that surprising bass, “fighting Trollocs, and having all kinds of adventures out in the world, so they say. I can still call you Perrin, can’t I?”

“Light, yes!” Perrin barked. He was more than tired of this Goldeneyes business.

“I wish I’d gone with you last year.” Dav rubbed his hands together eagerly. “Coming home with Aes Sedai, and Warders, and an Ogier.” He made them sound like trophies. “All I ever do is herd cows and milk cows, herd cows and milk cows. That and hoe, and chop wood. You’ve had all the luck.”

“What was it like?” Elam put in breathlessly. “Alanna Sedai said you’ve been all the way to the Great Blight, and I hear you’ve seen Caemlyn, and Cairhien. What’s a city like? Are they really ten times as big as Emond’s Field? Did you see a palace? Are there Darkfriends in the cities? Is the Blight really full of Trollocs and Fades and Warders?”

“Did a Trolloc give you that scar?” Voice like a bull or not, Adan managed a sort of squeaky excitement. “I wish I had a scar. Did you see a queen? Or a king? I think I’d rather see a queen, but a king would be grand. What is the White Tower like? Is it as big as a palace?”

Faile smiled, amused, but Perrin blinked at the onslaught. Had they forgotten the Trollocs on Winternight, forgotten the Trollocs in the countryside right then? Elam clutched his sword hilt as if he wanted to be off for the Blight on the instant, and Dav was up on his toes, eyes gleaming, and Adan looked ready to grab Perrin’s collar. Adventure? They were idiots. Yet there were hard times coming, harder than the Theren had seen so far, he was afraid. It could not hurt if they had a little while longer before they learned the truth.

His side hurt, but he tried to answer. They seemed disappointed he had never seen the White Tower, or a king or a queen. Some other things he shied away from: Falme, and the Eye of the World, the Forsaken,  _ Callandor _ . Dangerous subjects, those, leading inevitably to the Dragon Reborn. He could tell them a little of Caemlyn, though, and Cairhien, of the Borderlands and the Blight. It was odd what they accepted and what not. The corrupted landscape of the Blight, seeming to rot while you looked at it, they ate up, and top-knotted Shienaran soldiers, and Ogier  _ stedding _ where Aes Sedai could not wield the Power and Fades were reluctant to enter. But the size and immensity of cities ...

About his own supposed adventures, he said, “Mainly I’ve just tried to keep from having my head split open. That’s what adventures are, that and finding a place to sleep for the night, and something to eat. You go hungry a lot having adventures, and sleep cold or wet or both.”

They did not like that very much, or appear to believe it. He reminded himself that he had known as little of the world before he left the Theren. It did not help much. He had never been this wide-eyed. Had he? The common room seemed to be hot. He would have taken his coat off, but moving seemed too much effort.

“What about Mat?” Adan demanded. “If it’s all being hungry and getting rained on why didn’t he come home, too?”

Anna had heard enough. She stalked over to peer into the kitchen, and then glanced up the stairwell before rounding on the three lads. Like Rand and Mat, she was of an age with Dav and Elam, but seemed much older. Especially when she planted her fists on her hips like that. “Enough of this nonsense. Do you know who you remind me of right now? Egwene al’Vere. She talked a lot about having adventures, too. Do you know what happened to her? She was burnt alive. War isn’t an adventure. Be grateful for what you have, for as long as you can still have it. And if you can’t be grateful for that, then spare a thought for the grieving family you’ll leave behind if you run off and get yourselves killed. If you can’t imagine it, then press an ear to that door. You’ll hear more than a few weeping parents outside.”

Sara and Emi looked impressed, and the three Theren lads shuffled their feet under Anna’s rebuke, but Faile no longer appeared to be amused for some reason. She turned on Dav and the others with a stare to match Elayne’s haughtiest, stiff-backed and frosty-faced. “You have badgered him enough. He is wounded. Off with you, now.”

For a wonder, they bowed clumsily—Dav made an awkward leg, looking a complete fool—and murmured hasty apologies—to her, not him!—and turned to go. Their departure was delayed by the arrival of Loial, stooping through the doorway with his shaggy hair brushing the transom. They stared at the Ogier almost as if seeing him for the first time—then glanced at Faile and hurried on their way. That cold, lady’s stare of hers did work.

When Loial straightened, his head came just short of the ceiling. His capacious coat pockets bore the usual squared bulges of books, but he carried a huge axe. Its haft stood as tall as he did, and its head, shaped like a wood-axe, was at least as big as Perrin’s battle-axe. “You are hurt,” he boomed as soon as his eyes fell on Perrin. “They told me you had returned, but they did not say you were hurt, or I would have come faster.”

The axe gave Perrin a start. Among Ogier, “putting a long handle on your axe” meant being hasty, or angry—Ogier seemed to see the two as much the same thing for some reason. Loial did look angry, tufted ears drawing back, frowning so his dangling eyebrows hung down on his broad cheeks. At having to cut trees, no doubt. Perrin wanted to get him alone and find out if he had seen anything more concerning Alanna’s doings. Or Maigan’s. Or Moiraine’s for that matter. He rubbed his face and was surprised to find it dry; he felt as if he should be sweating.

“He is also stubborn,” Faile said, turning on Perrin with the same commanding look she had used on Dav and Elam and Ewin. “You should be in a bed. Where is Moiraine?”

Anna shook her head irritably. “I’ll get her, since no-one else seems willing to do it.” She brushed past Loial and marched out of the inn.

“I will have time for sleeping later,” Perrin said firmly. He smiled at her to soften it, but all that did was make her look worried and mutter “stubborn” under her breath. “Loial, the Waygate is unlocked, and Trollocs coming through. How can that be?”

The Ogier’s brows sank even deeper, and his ears wilted. “My fault, Perrin,” he rumbled mournfully. “I put both  _ Avendesora _ leaves on the outside. That locked the Waygate on the inside, but from the outside, anyone could still open it. The Ways have been dark for long generations, yet we grew them. I could not bring myself to destroy the Gate. I am sorry, Perrin. It is all my fault.”

“I did not believe a Waygate could be destroyed,” Faile said.

“I did not mean destroy, exactly.” Loial leaned on his long-handled axe. “A Waygate was destroyed once, less than five hundred years after the Breaking, according to Damelle, daughter of Ala daughter of Soferra, because the Gate was near a  _ stedding _ that had fallen to the Blight. There are two or three Gates lost in the Blight as it is. But she wrote that it was very difficult, and required thirteen Aes Sedai working together with a  _ sa’angreal _ . Another attempt she wrote of, by only nine, during the Trolloc Wars, damaged the Gate in such a way that the Aes Sedai were pulled into—” He cut off, ears wriggling with embarrassment, and knuckled his wide nose. Everyone was staring at him, even the Aiel. “I do let myself be carried away, sometimes. The Waygate. Yes. I cannot destroy it, but if I remove both  _ Avendesora _ leaves completely, they will die.” He grimaced at the thought. “The only means of opening the Gate again will be for the Elders to bring the Talisman of Growing. Though I suppose an Aes Sedai could cut a hole in it.” This time he shuddered. Damaging Waygate must have seemed like tearing up a book to him. A moment later, he was grim-faced once more. “I will go now.”

“No!” Perrin said sharply. The arrowhead seemed to throb, but it did not really hurt anymore. He was talking too much; his throat was dry. “There are Trollocs up there, Loial. They can fit an Ogier into a cookpot as well as a human.”

“But, Perrin, I—”

“No, Loial. How are you going to write your book if you go off and get yourself killed?”

Loial’s ears twitched. “It is my responsibility, Perrin.”

“The responsibility is mine,” Perrin said gently. “You told me what you were doing with the Waygate, and I didn’t suggest anything different. Besides, the way you jump every time your mother is mentioned, I don’t want her coming after me. I will go, as soon as Moiraine Heals this arrow out of me.” He wiped his forehead, then frowned at his hand. Still no sweat. “Can I have a drink of water?”

Faile was there in an instant, her cool fingers where his hand had been. “He is burning up! Where is Moiraine!?”

“I am here,” the Aes Sedai announced coolly, appearing in the doorway with Anna, Marin al’Vere and Alsbet Luhhan at her heels, and Lan right behind them. Perrin felt the tingle of the Power before Moiraine’s hand replaced Faile’s, and she added in a cool, serene voice, “Carry him into the kitchen. The table there is large enough to lay him out. Quickly. There is not much time.”

Perrin’s head spun, and abruptly he realized Loial had leaned his axe beside the door and picked him up, cradling him in his arms. “The Waygate is mine, Loial.”  _ Light, I’m thirsty _ . “My responsibility.”

The arrowhead truly did not seem to hurt as much as it had, but he ached all over. Loial was carrying him somewhere, bending through doorways. There was Mistress Luhhan, biting her lip, eyes squinched as if about to cry. He wondered why. She never cried. Mistress al’Vere looked worried, too.

“Mistress Luhhan,” he murmured, “Mother says I can come be apprenticed to Master Weyland.” No. That was a long time ago. That was ...  _ What was? _ He could not seem to remember.

He was lying on something hard, listening to Moiraine speak. “... barbs are caught on bone as well as flesh, and the arrowhead has twisted. I must realign it with the first wound and pull it out. If the shock does not kill him, I can then Heal the damage I have done as well as the rest. There is no other way. He is near the brink now.” Nothing to do with him.

Faile smiled down at him tremulously, her face upside down. Had he really once thought her mouth was too wide? It was just right. He wanted to touch her cheek, but Lan was holding his wrists for some reason, leaning with all his weight. Someone was lying across his legs, too, and Loial’s big hands swallowed his shoulders, pressing them flat to the table. Table. Yes. The kitchen table.

“Bite down, my heart,” Faile said from far away. “It will hurt.”

He wanted to ask her what would hurt, but she was pressing a leather-wrapped stick into his mouth. He smelled the leather and the spicewood and her. Would she come hunting with him, running across the endless grassy plains after endless herds of deer? Icy cold shivered through him; vaguely he recognized the feel of the One Power. And then there was pain. He heard the stick snap between his teeth before blackness covered everything.


	55. Yearn No More

CHAPTER 52: Yearn No More

Rand watched from afar as Sascya and her family grieved. He wondered at his own lack of shock at Jared’s death, and at the changes in Emond’s Field itself. There was a feel of inevitability about it all, to him. It just reinforced what he had realised when he found the smoking wreckage of his childhood home. There was no going back, only forwards. Forwards towards war.

He stood alone among the grieving throng, armed and armoured, like a silent, black-coated avatar of death. He didn’t think it was the hovering Shienarans that kept folk from approaching him. They had to sense it, too. Twice in as many years, the Theren had been attacked by Shadowspawn. Change was in the air. And whether the Theren would survive that change remained to be seen.

He saw Joanne al’Meara among the crowd, standing with her husband. She was visibly pregnant and he was glad she’d decided to heed Perrin’s advice and leave her farm for the village. Rand wondered if Nynaeve knew she was going to be an aunt. He suspected not. She and Joanne hadn’t gotten along very well even before Nynaeve decided that Wisdoms should sever their personal connections with everyone else.

Old Cenn Buie had realised that one of his grandsons was among the dead. He didn’t weep, instead his grief manifested as anger. Rand hoped he wouldn’t blame Perrin. Cenn could be like that.

Ellie Torfinn wept openly, though for exactly whom it was hard to know. Ellie’s brown hair was still unbraided, despite her being almost forty. The Women’s Circle had never allowed it, and if Ellie had ever cared about that snub, she’d stopped long before Rand came to know her. She was still a relatively slender woman, though one who was very fleshy in the chest and hip areas. She was still beautiful, too, despite the crooked nose. Rand had never known who had broken it, but he suspected it was one of the wives from Emond’s Field. Ellie had a very loving nature, and Rand was far from the only person to have enjoyed her company over the years.

Frowning to himself, Rand sought Calle Coplin out with his gaze. None of the Coplins or Congars had been among Perrin’s hunters, and no tears could be seen among that lot. Calle and Ellie shared a similar reputation around the Theren but Rand, who had leapt at Ellie’s flirtatious offer, had rejected the same from Calle. In hindsight, he was hard pressed to explain why. But in his head, Ellie was a friendly, misunderstood figure, whereas Calle was scheming and untrustworthy, even if they both did the same things. Calle had never forgiven him for the slight. She scowled when she noticed Rand looking at her, so he turned his head away.

The al’Vere sisters were much in evidence, helping the new Wisdom to shepherd the wounded men around. Hu and Tad Barran had been overwhelmed by the number of horses that had come in, and several men had volunteered to help stable them. It was good to be active at a time like this. It kept you from having to think too much. Ellie’s nephews, Jaim and Leof, were among the volunteer stableboys. Their little sister had been one of those killed last Winternight; Rand expected the wailing that sounded around the village was digging up unwelcome memories.

They dug up memories for Rand, too, but he felt a coldness that disturbed him. There was a time he would have wept over Jared and the others. Now he just stood there, grim-faced and dry-eyed. He took some small comfort in the sight of his father and Master Candwin, wending their way carefully through the crowd. Tam’s bluff face was set in a mournful expression, but he didn’t weep either. He’d been a soldier, he’d seen war, as Rand had. Rand dared to think that all soldiers felt this way; it was easier than thinking that something had broken in his mind.

Tam and Abell saw Rand and turned their steps his way. Tam had a sword belted on over his coat, and both men carried their bows. The sword looked right on Tam, farm coat or no.

“I have your old sword in my saddlebags,” Rand said as soon as Tam was close enough to hear. “I should probably have returned it to you earlier. The blade’s broke, but the belt and scabbard are still usable.”

Tam shook his head. “You could have thrown that old thing away, lad, I wouldn’t have minded. As I told you once, it wasn’t worth the price that I paid for it. But if you want to keep it, that’s fine, too.”

He hadn’t noticed until then that Min and a pair of young Maidens—Harilin and Aca, specifically—were following along in the path Tam cleared. Min’s dark, knowing eyes caught and held Rand’s. “I ... would like that. It meant a lot to me,” he said slowly. She smiled a private smile.

Tam glanced back and forth between them and nodded to himself, as though confirming something. “Young Min has been helping fortify the town. She swings a meaner axe than you’d think, from the size of her.”

Min blushed. “Flatterer! My arms are killing me. It’s been years since my da showed me how to use a pickaxe up in the mines, and I’m starting to think he was holding more of the weight that he let on.”

“He taught you well. There’s a lot to be said for a woman who can take care of herself.” There were smiles all around, from Tam and Min, and even from pretty Aca, with her very pale, yellow hair.

Rand felt a stab of jealously the likes of which he’d never experienced before. It left him at a loss for words. Tam had been nice towards, and offered advice to, all of Rand’s friends over the years, so why did seeing him do the same with Min make Rand bunch his fists like that? Why did his heart ache?  _ I didn’t know we weren’t related by blood back then _ , he told himself. For all Tam’s reassurances, some part of him just wasn’t willing to accept that he truly belonged here.

Tam eyed him shrewdly. “Perhaps you two could go check on Dannen and Tief, out on the northern pastures. We haven’t gotten around to setting the stakes there yet.”

Min shuffled her feet, discomforted by something. “Actually, I should talk to Mistress al’Vere. I’m supposed to be helping about the inn, but I’ve been leaving too much of the work to the younger girls.” She avoided Rand’s eyes. Why did that make him feel sad?

“There isn’t much to do, they’re just helping put Master Aybara to bed,” a girl’s high voice said from behind Rand. Saeri smiled when Rand looked her way. With a white apron tied over the nice blue dress they’d picked up for her, Saeri looked very much the maid she kept calling herself. She wore the silver necklace he’d bought her openly now, with never a care for how much its value contradicted her humble profession. “I am glad thou art safe, my Lord. Who is the yellow-eyed girl?”

Imoen Candwin was with her, looking as bright-eyed as ever, but that was certainly not the girl Saeri spoke of. “Yellow like Perrin?” Imoen said excitedly.

Rand had to search the crowd for Raine. When he finally found her, she was over near the flagstaff with the red wolf’s-head banner, silently but intently watching him. She did that a lot. He almost felt as though he was being stalked. Raine had gotten rid of the bonnet, revealing hair of a lighter shade of red than his own, and much curlier. He was a little surprised Saeri had noticed her from so far away.

“That’s Raine Cinclare. She’s ... an acquaintance of Perrin’s that we meet at the Tinker camp.”

Min peered at the wolfsister intently. Rand watched her eyes as she did so, and noted the way they darted about. He suspected she was taking in more details than simply Raine’s appearance and mode of dress. Min’s cheeks paled at whatever she saw. “Is ... Is that? She’s dangerous, but I don’t think it’s the same one. Why a leash? Can she channel?” Her whispers were so soft that he wondered if she was even aware she was speaking.

“Perhaps we should have a private talk, after all,” Rand said quietly.

Min jumped when she realised he was watching and listening. She shook her head fiercely. “I-I’m sure there’s something I could be doing, w-whatever Saeri says,” she stammered, before quickly wending her way off towards the Winespring Inn. He wondered what she had seen about Raine that troubled her so much. He wondered if she’d ever tell him, too.

Imoen watched Min go with a curious look on her face. “Is it true she was a student at the White Tower, Rand? Can she channel, like the Aes Sedai? How’d she meet a princess? She never answers when I ask.”

“Well perhaps you should take that as a hint, niece, and not pry,” Abell rebuked, though he smiled fondly as he said it.

“Min can’t channel, I can tell you that much,” Rand said quietly. It would be best to prevent any rumours to the contrary from spreading. Not many people were comfortable with the One Power, even when it was being used by women rather than men.

“One more thing to recommend her,” Abell said. He and Tam shared a brief smile. The Cauthons and Candwins had made their lack of regard for channelers plain over the years, and none more so than Mat when he learned of Rand’s ability. The memory made Rand glum.

“Are you at a loss for what to do, Rand?” his father asked. He’d used to say that often back on the farm. It was usually followed by a list of chores.

Rand didn’t doubt there was a respectable list of tasks that needed doing around Emond’s Field, but he had some duties of his own to attend to first. “No. I’ll help out with the preparations, but I need to check in with Geko and Urien first. And there’s something I need to talk to Loial about.”

Tam nodded. “I’m sure you know what you’re about, lad.” He walked off with Abell at his side, leaving Rand to stare after him. He would have expected Tam to have had more to say about it than that. He’d commanded soldiers, and fought against Aiel. Rand had done neither, but Tam would just leave him to deal with it? He wasn’t sure what he felt, nervous and yet pleased at the same time.

“Dost thou have a task for me, my Lord?” Saeri asked earnestly.

Rand smiled and patted the top of her head. “Not for me, Saeri. But if you could help Mistress al’Vere and the Wisdom to treat the wounded, I’d be grateful.”

She squirmed like a puppy under his touch. “I shall attend to it forthwith!” she said, before marching off.

“She’s a funny one, isn’t she Rand?” Imoen grinned, once the other girl was out of earshot. “She talks like someone out of a gleeman’s story, but she works harder than anyone, even at the yucky jobs.” It occurred to him that the two girls were about the same age. It would be nice for Saeri to have another friend, and she could do much worse than Imoen.

“She’s a bit of a character,” he said fondly, “like certain chatterbox’s I could name.” Imoen’s hazel eyes narrowed suspiciously at that. He patted her on the head, too. “Saeri’s had a hard life, for one so young, but she has a good heart. They weren’t able to break her spirit.”

Imoen opened her mouth to ask the obvious question, but then slowly let it click shut again. “Perhaps I should go help her,” she said.

Between one moment and the next, she seemed more grown up to Rand. “Perhaps you should,” he said, with a small smile. Imoen gave him a cheery wave as she set off in the direction Saeri had gone.

Alone again, Rand resolved to make good on his promise to Tam. Geko had his camp on one side of the Green, while Urien had his at the opposite side. He hoped there hadn’t been any trouble between the Aiel and Shienarans that had been left in the village when he went looking for Perrin.

He only made it a few steps towards the Green before movement caught his eye. He paused, peering over at Mistress Candwin’s house. Another wave brought his attention to a girl who was half-hidden around the side of the house. Bode smiled when she caught his eye. She looked about to make sure no-one was watching her, and then crooked her finger Rand’s way, before darting out of view.

Rand bit his lip. He really should be working, either at making sure things were going smoothly with those who had accompanied him to the Theren, or at helping to fortify Emond’s Field. But ... there were Bode’s kisses to consider, and the pleasant handfuls of soft flesh she had let him have, and might well do again ...

In the end, he turned away from the Green towards the place he’d last seen Bode, trying not to remember what Anna had called him earlier this morning.

Bode wasn’t near the Candwins’ place. She wasn’t around the back either, and he would have noticed if she’d run off towards the Green. So ... Rand’s lips twitched. He had a good idea where he’d find her.

Natti Cauthon’s home showed little sign of the Trolloc attack last year. The path to it was much as Rand remembered, as was the house itself, empty now, with everyone out working in town. The barn should have been empty, too, but Rand doubted it would be.

When he eased open the door of the barn and slipped inside, he found Bodewhin Cauthon waiting for him. She was seated on a bale of hay, out in the open, where the sunlight that peeked in through the slats in the wood could dapple her skin with its warm rays. And dapple her it did, for she was as naked as the day she was born.

Bode sat with her legs crossed at the knee and her hands folded demurely, but the wicked smile on her face gave the lie to that pose. Her dark hair hung in a braid down her back and her big, round breasts hung just as freely, drawing his eyes down over the folds of her belly towards her wide hips. Rand licked his lips at the sight, and her smile widened.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said. She looked lovely, with her rosy cheeks and that mischievous gleam in her dark eyes.

Rand dropped his bow to the ground carelessly and began undoing the buckle on his belt. “You know ... I think I’ve been waiting for this, too.”

“Did you think about me when you were away?”

It wouldn’t be a complete lie to say he had, and when he did, the grin that split her round face washed his conscious clean.

Rand undressed hastily, shedding armour and coat with by now well-practised familiarity. Bode watched him strip, not moving from her perch until he was all the way down to his skin, and then it was only to hold out her hands in welcome.

Her lips met his unabashedly and it took no time at all before her hunger became plain. Bode wasn’t content to wrap her arms around him, she went straight for the cock today, taking a gentle hold of Rand’s shaft and rubbing it in her hand. He was already fully hard, but her touch made him twitch, and that caused her to break into a fit of giggles.

“You took my virginity with this, you wicked beast,” Bode teased. “My parents would have a fit if they knew.”

“True on both counts,” he murmured, fondling her breasts in his hands.

She bit her lip and avoided looking at him, though she made no effort to stop him fondling her. “I still have a little virtue left ...” Bode whispered.

Rand suspected he knew what she was hinting at. And he was happy to play along. “Unacceptable. You’re to be mine, all mine. What is it that you deny me?”

Bode swallowed. “Nothing ...”

He took her by the hands, pulled her to her feet and kissed her deeply. “Good,” he said in a low growl, once he had tasted his fill of her mouth. Then he spun her around and gently pushed her over onto the hay. Bode didn’t need much in the way of coercion to assume the position. Excitement quickened her breath as she knelt on her hands and knees before him.

Rand brushed stray straws from her fleshy cheeks and then, having enjoyed the way those soft globes moved under his hands, he started fondling her roughly. Bode didn’t object, not even when he parted her buttocks and brushed a finger across the puckered little hole between them.

Her dryness worried him. The first time could be painful, just like it could the other way. He didn’t have anything on hand to use except her own fluids, and his, so Rand knelt behind Bode and pressed his mouth to her sex.

Her gasps of pleasure spurred him on as he licked along and within the folds of her sex. When he slid a finger inside, he found her gratifyingly wet. He transferred that finger to her other hole and teased it as his mouth went back to work on her pussy. Her ass twitched under his ministrations at first, but by the time he’d started using two fingers coated in her pussy juice, she was relaxed and accepting of the unfamiliar touch.

“This may hurt a bit, at first. If you truly deny me nothing, it will get easier, quicker,” Rand said. He could feel her trembles through the fleshy cheeks he held apart when he stood to line himself up with her back entrance.

Bode drew in a sharp breath when she felt the head of Rand’s cock pressing against her virgin ass. He pushed forwards steadily and she let out a pained sound. “Relax, that’s my brave girl,” he murmured, still pushing. He didn’t relent until he had popped past the tight ring of her ass and forced a gasp, part pain and part pleasure, from her lips.

“Now that’s a tight fit. I’m going to have to stretch you out, get you nice and used to my cock inside you. Do you think you could take it?”

“I can take anything you have to give, Rand al’Thor,” Bode said stubbornly. But she still let out a little yelp when he pushed further into her butt.

Rand fondled her body as he let her get used to the feel of him inside. Only when he felt her relax once more did he work another inch in. Then he stopped once more and repeated the process. Bode’s yelps of pain grew less sharp, her moans of pleasure more pronounced, and by the time he his balls rested up against her fleshy cheeks she was whispering filthy encouragements that her parents really would have had a fit to hear.

To check if she was ready, Rand slowly pulled himself almost all the way out and then slammed back inside. She was a gloriously tight sheath for his sword, and the way she gasped, “Oh Light!” at his thrust sounded a long way from pained.

Rand wanted to ravage her ass. It felt so good in there, and the urge to fuck her until he filled her butt with his come was loud in his body, but he held fast to his patience. Even better than coming in Bode’s butt would be making her come with his cock up there, and then filling her with his seed. So he made himself go slow, and savoured the soft grunts that each stroke of his cock wrung from the kneeling girl.

“I used to fantasize about this you know,” Bode whispered after a while. “While I was lying in my bed at night and my sister was asleep. I would touch myself and imagine it was my bum you were fucking that day instead of Egwene’s. I came so many times thinking of that. I never dreamed we’d actually be doing this someday.”

Rand smiled down at the girl. She had her face turned away from him still, but he could see how red her cheeks had gotten. How she could cling to modesty while doing such things was beyond him. It woke in Rand the evil urge to embarrass her further. “That’s a tantalising image,” he purred. “But how about you show me the reality.” He took her by the wrist and guided her right hand downwards. “I’d like to see you making yourself come for me.”

“I couldn’t ...” Bode gasped.

“Didn’t you say earlier that you would deny me nothing? If I told you to then it wouldn’t really be your fault, now would it?”

“I-I suppose ...” Bode moaned sexily as she slid a hand across her belly and over the coarse hairs of her sex. She began to rub herself feverishly as Rand continued to pump in and out of her ass, her fleshy buttocks quivering with each slap of his hips against them.

Bode’s moans became wanton and Rand’s breath quickened. Her hips offered great purchase for his hands, and her cheeks cushioned him nicely. She fair begged to be buggered hard and fast and it was getting more and more difficult for him to resist. He slapped her bottom in frustration.

The loud moan she let out at the sharp contact surprised him. She repeated the sound when he slapped her again. “Bodewhin Cauthon,” he growled. “You really are a naughty girl.”

“No I’m not!” she protested breathlessly. “Mat’s the naughty one. I’m a good girl.”

“A good girl, who’s going to come with a cock up her butt?”

“Don’t say that!” she protested, but the hand that stroked her pussy moved even faster in response to his words.

“Admit it!” Rand demanded. “You’re every bit as naughty as Mat, possibly worse.”

Bode tossed her head, braid flailing. He got a good look at her face; she was red as a beet and her mouth hung open wide as she took him up her back passage again and again.

Rand leaned forward. His hands abandoned her hips in favour of her dangling breasts. “Admit it,” he whispered in her ear as he took a hold of those soft globes and kneaded them firmly. “You’re my naughty little Bode. Say it.”

His thrusts came long and hard then, and each one forced a moaned word from Bode’s lips. “I’m! A! Naughty! Girl!”

With the last word, Bode began bucking under Rand. Her already tight passage tightened even more around his cock as she came. Rand took her by the jaw and made her look at him, and she was so lost to pleasure that she forgot to resist. He stared into her big, dark eyes and rubbed his thumb along her lips as he watched her come. “That’s my girl,” he whispered, smiling fondly. “My good, naughty, girl.” In the throes of her orgasm, she could only groan in response.

He waited until Bode had stopped bucking, until she recalled that she was supposed to be the virtuous Cauthon sibling and ducked her eyes, before he began moving again. She was fully loose by then, her back passage moulded to his cock. Neither it nor its owner offered any resistance as Rand began pounding Bode’s ass with all the lust he’d been holding in check. Her gasping, shaking breaths spurred him on as he ravaged her backside, holding her firmly, possessively by her wide hips and making her fleshy cheeks jiggle like crazy.

Rand fucked her hard until he felt his climax building, and then he fucked her harder still. He fucked her until a sudden inferno of pleasure set his body afire. Then he hilted inside Bode’s ass and unleashed jet after jet of come into her virgin bowels, marking her as his.

Bode moaned in relief when she felt him come. The sound made a small part of Rand’s brain, what little of it as was capable of thinking tight then, wonder if he’d been a little too tough on her. The rest of him was too busy gasping in pleasure at his long-delayed satisfaction.

When his thoughts cleared, Rand found Bode bent over on the haybale, resting her cheek on her folded hands and looking back up at him over her shoulder.

His lips quirked into a smile. “You look cute like that,” he said honestly, between shaking breaths.

Somehow, she still managed to blush, even kneeling there with an ass full of his come. “You look pretty nice like that, too,” she managed, then bit her lip hard. “Burn me, but my parents really would kill me if they knew about this.”

Rand laughed. “They would. But let’s be honest: that’s part of why you enjoy it so much.” He gave her big cheek another, much lighter, slap, while tutting disapprovingly. “You naughty girl, you.”

She giggled. “I suppose it might be a little true,” she allowed. “But promise me you won’t tell Mat. He’d never let me hear the end of it.”

_ You and me both, but for very different reasons _ . “I promise.”


	56. Caemlyn Again

CHAPTER 53: Caemlyn Again

Mat had vague memories of Caemlyn, but when they approached it in the early hours after sunrise, it seemed as if he had never been there before. They had not been alone on the road since first light, and other riders surrounded them now, and trains of merchants’ wagons and folk afoot, all streaming toward the great city.

Built on rising hills, it was surely as large as Tar Valon, and outside the huge walls—a fifty-foot height of pale, greyish stone streaked with white and silver sparkling in the sun, spaced with tall, round towers with the Lion Banner of Andor waving atop them, white on red—outside those walls, it seemed as if another great city had been placed, wrapping around the walled city, all red brick and grey stone and white plastered walls, inns pushed in on houses of three and four stories so fine they must belong to wealthy merchants, shops with goods displayed on tables under awnings crowding against wide, windowless warehouses. Open markets under red and purple roof tiles lined the road on both sides, men and women already crying their wares, bargaining at the top of their voices, while penned calves and sheep and goats and pigs, caged geese and chickens and ducks, added to the din. He seemed to remember thinking Caemlyn was too noisy when he was here before; now it sounded like a heartbeat, pumping wealth.

The road led to arched gates twenty feet high, standing open under the watchful eye of red-coated Queen’s Guards in their shining breastplates—they eyed Aludra and him no more than anyone else, not even the quarterstaff slanted across his saddle in front of him; all they cared was that people keep moving, it seemed—and then they were within. Slender towers here rose even taller than those along the walls, and gleaming domes shone white and gold above streets teeming with people. Just inside the gates the road split into two parallel streets, separated by a wide strip of grass and trees. The hills of the city rose like steps toward a peak, which was surrounded by another wall, shining as white as Tar Valon’s, with still more domes and towers within. That was the Inner City, Mat recalled, and atop those highest hills stood the Royal Palace.

“No point waiting,” he told Aludra. “I’ll take the letter straight on.” He looked at the sedan chairs and carriages making their way through the crowds, the shops with all their goods displayed. “A man could earn some gold in this city once he found a game of dice, or cards.” He was not quite so lucky at cards as at dice, but few except nobles and the wealthy played those games anyway _. Now that’s who I should find a game with _ .

“Me, I do not think the prestige that performing for a queen it brings is as healthy as it once was. Tammuz, he would not have done what he did without the Guild’s approval. You say The Queen’s Blessing has good meals. I will stay there.”

With Mat’s memory being as patchy as it was, they became lost twice while searching for The Queen’s Blessing, but he steadfastly refused Aludra’s insulting advice that he ask for directions. At last he found the sign with a man kneeling before a woman with red-gold hair and a crown of golden roses, her hand on his head. It was a broad stone building of three stories, with tall windows even up under the red roof tiles. He rode around back to the stableyard, where a horse-faced fellow, in a leather vest that could hardly be any tougher than his skin, helped them unhitch Aludra’s cart and then took Red’s reins. Mat thought he remembered the fellow.  _ Yes. Ramey _ .

“It has been a long time, Ramey.” He tossed him a silver mark. “You remember me, don’t you?”

“Can’t say as I ...” Ramey began, then caught the shine of silver where he had expected copper, he coughed, and his short nod turned into something that combined a knuckled forehead with a jerky bow. “Why, of course I do, young master. Forgive me. Slipped my mind. Mind no good for people. Good for horses. I know horses, I do. A fine animal, young master. I’ll take good care of him, you can be sure. Is that Red? Thanks for bringing him back, young master.” He delivered it all quickly, with no room for Mat to say a word, then hurried the stallion into the stable before he might have to come up with Mat’s name.

With a sour grimace, Mat put the fat roll of fireworks under his arm and shouldered the rest of his belongings.  _ Fellow couldn’t tell me from Hawkwing’s toenails _ .

“Your fame, it is far-reaching, Mat,” Aludra said dryly.

Mat just grinned at her. That sly tongue of hers had many uses besides needling him, as he’d found over the journey south. The things she could do to a cock were more than worth putting up with the rest for. She stayed behind to attend to her cart, not trusting the stablemen with her precious fireworks and all the other goodies. She hadn’t trusted Mat with them either, despite them sharing a bed every night of the journey, since that first time.

“I’ll be back soon, Aludra. I said I’d have this letter out of my hands an hour after I arrived, and mean to. Book us a room, I’m good for it.”

“Us? Presumptuous brat! Well, perhaps I will and perhaps I won’t,” she tossed her thin braids dramatically, though she had to use a hand to do it, weighed down with all those beads as they were. “Do not become lost, Mat. It’s a big city, Caemlyn.”

And a rich one. Mat strode out of the inn and on up the crowded street.  _ Lost! I can find my bloody way _ . The sickness appeared to have erased parts of his memory. He could look at an inn, its upper floors sticking out over the ground floor all the way around and its sign creaking in the breeze, and remember seeing it before, yet not recall another thing he could see from that spot. A hundred paces of street might abruptly spark in his memory, while the parts before and after remained as mysterious as dice still in the cup. It only seemed to have affected his memory from before getting rid of the dagger, thankfully; he could recall all the things he’d done since then just fine. That included all the reasons he was sure Aludra was just making a show of not booking a room for him, too. She knew a good thing when she rode it.

Even with the holes in his memory he was sure he had never been to the Inner City or the Royal Palace— _ I couldn’t forget that! _ —yet he did not need to remember the way. The streets of the New City—he remembered that name suddenly; it was the part of Caemlyn less than two thousand years old—ran every which way, but the main boulevards all led to the Inner City. The Guards at the gates made no effort to stop anyone.

Within those white walls were buildings that could almost have fit in Tar Valon. The curving streets topped hills to reveal thin towers, their tiled walls sparkling with a hundred colours in the sunlight, or to look down on parks laid out in patterns made to be viewed from above, or to show sweeping vistas across the entire city to the rolling plains and forests beyond. It did not really matter which streets he took here. They all spiralled in on what he sought, the Royal Palace of Andor.

In no time, he found himself crossing the huge oval plaza before the Palace, riding toward its tall, gilded gates. The pure white Palace of Andor would certainly not have been out of place among Tar Valon’s wonders, with its slender towers and golden domes shining in the sun, its high balconies and intricate stonework. The gold leaf on one of those domes could have kept him in luxury for a year.

There were fewer people in the plaza than elsewhere, as if it were reserved for great occasions. A dozen of the Guards stood before the closed gates, bows slanted, all at exactly the same angle, across their gleaming breastplates, faces hidden by the steel bars of their burnished helmets’ face-guards. A heavyset officer, with his red cloak thrown back to reveal a knot of gold braid on his shoulder, was walking up and down the line, eyeing each man as if he thought he might find rust or dust.

Mat stopped before him and put on a smile. “Good morning to you, Captain.”

The officer turned, staring at him through the bars of his face-guard with deep, beady eyes, like a pudgy rat in a cage. The man was older than he had expected—surely old enough to have more than one knot of rank—and fat rather than stocky. “What do you want, farmer?” he demanded roughly.

Mat drew a breath.  _ Make it good. Impress this fool so he doesn’t keep me waiting all day _ . “I come from Tar Valon, from the White Tower, bearing a letter from—”

“You come from Tar Valon, farmer?” The fat officer’s stomach shook as he laughed, but then his laughter cut off as if severed with a knife, and he glared. “We want no letters from Tar Valon, rogue, if you have such a thing! Our good Queen—may the Light illumine her!—will take no word from the White Tower until the Daughter-Heir is returned to her. I never heard of any messenger from the Tower wearing a countryman’s coat and breeches. It is plain to me you are up to some trick, perhaps thinking you’ll find a few coins if you come claiming to carry letters, but you will be lucky if you don’t end in a prison cell! If you do come from Tar Valon, go back and tell the Tower to return the Daughter-Heir before we come and take her! If you’re a trickster after silver, get out of my sight before I have you beaten within an inch of your life! Either way, you half-wit looby, be gone!”

Mat had been trying to edge a word in from the beginning of the man’s speech. He said quickly, “The letter is from her, man. It is from—”

“Did I not tell you to be gone, ruffian?” the fat man bellowed. His face was growing nearly as red as his coat. “Take yourself out of my sight, you gutter scum! If you are not gone by the time I count ten, I will arrest you for littering the plaza with your presence! One! Two!”

“Can you count so high, you fat fool?” Mat snapped. “I tell you, Elayne sent—”

“Guards!” The officer’s face was purple now. “Seize this man for a Darkfriend!”

Mat hesitated a moment, sure no-one could take such a charge seriously, but the red-coated Guards dashed toward him, all dozen men in breastplates and helmets, so he turned on his heel and sprinted away, followed by the fat man’s shouts. Mat had always been quick, a life spent dodging Wisdoms and nosy sisters had done well by him there, so he outdistanced the armoured men easily enough. People dodged out of his way along the curving streets, shaking fists after him and shouting as many curses as the officer had.

_ Fool _ , he thought, meaning the fat officer, then added another for himself.  _ All I had to do was say her bloody name in the beginning. “Elayne, the Daughter-Heir of Andor, sends this letter to her mother, Queen Morgase.” Light, who could have thought they’d think that way about Tar Valon _ . From what he remembered of his last visit, Aes Sedai and the White Tower had been close behind Queen Morgase in the Guards’ affections.  _ Burn her, Elayne could have told me _ . Reluctantly, he added,  _ I could have asked questions, too _ .

Before he reached the arched gates that let out into the New City, he slowed to a walk. He did not think the Guards from the Palace could still be chasing him, and there was no point in attracting the eyes of those at the gate, too, but they looked at him no more now than when he had first entered.

Mat stalked back to The Queen’s Blessing, wondering how he was supposed to deliver Elayne’s bloody letter now. He went in through the stables, but Aludra’s cart had already been unloaded and the woman herself was nowhere to be seen.

A bulky, muscular man was sitting on an upturned barrel beside the door to the kitchen, gently scratching the ear of a black-and-white cat crouched on his knee. The man studied Mat with heavy-lidded eyes, especially the quarterstaff across his shoulder, but he never stopped his scratching. Mat thought he remembered him, but he could not bring up a name. He said nothing as he went through the door, and neither did the man.  _ No reason they should remember me. Probably have bloody Aes Sedai coming for people every day _ .

In the kitchen, two undercooks and three scullions were darting between stoves and roasting spits under the direction of a round woman with her hair in a bun and a long wooden spoon that she used to point out what she wanted done. Mat was sure he remembered the round woman. Coline, and what a name for a woman that wide, but everybody called her Cook.

“Well, Cook,” he announced, “I am back, and not a year since I left.”

She peered at him a moment, then nodded. “I remember you.” He began to grin. “You were with that young prince, weren’t you?” she went on. “The one who looked so like Tigraine, the Light illumine her memory. You’re his serving man, aren’t you? Is he coming back, then, the young prince?”

“No,” he said curtly.  _ A prince! Light! _ “I do not think he will be anytime soon, and I don’t think you would like it if he did.” She protested, saying what a fine, handsome young man the prince was— _ Burn me, is there a woman anywhere who doesn’t moon over Rand and make calf-eyes if you mention his bloody name? She’d bloody scream if she knew what he’s become _ —but he refused to let her get it out. “Is Master Gill about?”

“In the library,” she said with a tight sniff. “You tell Basel Gill when you see him that I said those drains need cleaning. Today, mind.” She caught sight of something one of the undercooks was doing to a beef roast and waddled over to her. “Not so much, child. You will make the meat too sweet if you put so much arrath on it.” She seemed to have forgotten Mat already.

He shook his head as he went in search of this library he could not remember. He could not remember that Coline was married to Master Gill, either, but if he had ever heard a goodwife send instructions to her husband, that had been it. A pretty serving girl with big eyes giggled and directed him down a hall beside the common room.

When he stepped into the library, he stopped and stared. There had to be more than three hundred books on the shelves built on the walls, and more lying on the tables; he had never seen so many books in one place in his life. Pink-faced Basel Gill—a fat man with greying hair—was lounging in a comfy looking chair with a leather-bound copy of  _ The Travels of Jain Farstrider _ in his hands. Mat had always meant to read that—Rand and Perrin had always been telling him things out of it—but he never did seem to get around to reading the books he meant to read.

Gill looked up at Mat’s entrance, frowned slightly, and then nodded to himself. “I remember you. One of the lads Thom sent my way. Sickly, the last time you were here, I recall. I hope you are better now, lad.”

The room felt familiar to Mat, but his memories failed to show him exactly why. Moiraine had caught up to Rand and him there, when he had thought they were finally free of her.  _ She’s off playing her game with Rand, now. Nothing to do with me. Not anymore _ .

“I am better,” Mat said. “Is that all you remember? That I was sick?”

“Considering who you left with, lad, and considering the way things are now, maybe it’s best I remember no more than that.”

“Aes Sedai not in such good odour now, are they?” Mat set his things in one big armchair, the quarterstaff propped against the back, and himself in another with one leg swinging over the arm. “The Guards at the Palace seemed to think the White Tower had stolen Elayne.”

“Hardly that,” Gill said, “but the whole city knows she disappeared from the Tower.”

“She came back not that long ago,” Mat told him.

“Did she? Well, that’s good news. Perhaps Morgase knows, but everyone down to a stableboy is stepping lightly so she doesn’t snap off his head. Lord Gaebril has kept her from actually sending anyone to the headsman, but I’d not say she would not do it. And he has certainly not soothed her temper toward Tar Valon. If anything, I think he has made it worse.”

“Who’s this Gaebril?”

“Morgase’s new advisor, and high in her regard, they say. Gareth Bryne didn’t like him, so Bryne has been retired to his estate.” Gill got a grim look on his face when he delivered that news.

“So the Queen has an advisor who doesn’t like Tar Valon,” Mat said. “Well, that explains the way the Guards acted when I said I came from there.”

“If you told them that,” Gill said, “you might be lucky you escaped without any broken bones. If it was any of the new men, at least. Gaebril has replaced half the Guards in Caemlyn with men of his choosing, and that is no mean feat considering how short a time he has been here. Some say Morgase may marry him.” He shook of his head. “Times change. People change. Too much change for me. I suppose I am growing old.”

“I will just have to avoid the Guards and put Elayne’s letter right into Morgase’s hands,” Mat said, with forced cheer.  _ Especially if they’re all like that fat fool. Light, I wonder if he’s told them all I’m a Darkfriend? _

“You have a letter from the Daughter-Heir?” Gill exclaimed. “What kind of letter? Is she coming home? And Lord Gawyn? I hope they are. I’ve actually heard talk of war with Tar Valon, as if anyone could be fool enough to go to war with Aes Sedai. If you ask me, it is all one with those mad rumours we’ve heard about Aes Sedai supporting a false Dragon somewhere in the west, and using the Power as a weapon. Not that I can see why that would make anyone want to go to war with them; just the opposite.”

“Are you married to Coline?” Mat asked, and Master Gill gave a start.

“The Light preserve me from that! You would think the inn was hers now. If she was my wife ...! What does that have to do with the Daughter-Heir’s letter?”

“Nothing,” Mat said, “but you went on so long, I thought you must have forgotten your own questions.” Gill made a choking sound, and Mat hurried on before the innkeeper could speak. “The letter is sealed; Elayne did not tell me what it says.” And he certainly wasn’t about to admit he opened the thing. “But I don’t think she is coming home. She means to be Aes Sedai, if you ask me.” He told the innkeeper about his attempt to deliver the letter, smoothing over a few edges he had no need to know about.

“The new men,” Gill said. “That officer sounds it, at least. I’ll wager on it. No better than brigands, most of them, except the ones with a sly eye. You wait until this afternoon, lad, when the Guards on the gate will have changed. Say the Daughter-Heir’s name right out, and just in case the new fellow is one of Gaebril’s men, too, duck your head a little. A knuckle to your forehead, and you’ll have no trouble.”

“Burn me if I will. I pull wool and scratch gravel for nobody. Not to Morgase herself,” Mat declared. But how else was he supposed to keep his promise? How could ... Another half-buried memory rose to the surface of Mat’s mind, and a smile spread slowly across his face.  _ Now there’s an idea _ . Even if that fat officer had not been watching the gates, he thought he would like it better. “This time I’ll not go near the Guards at all.” _ I would just as soon not know what word that fat fellow has spread anyway _ . Gill stared at him as if he were mad.

“How under the Light,” Gill said, “do you mean to enter the Royal Palace without passing the Guards?” His eyes widened as if he were remembering something. “Light, you don’t mean to ... Lad, you’d need the Dark One’s own luck to escape with your life!”

“I am lucky, Master Gill,” Mat said. “You just have a good meal waiting when I come back.” As he stood, he picked up the dice cup and spun the dice out on the table for luck. The five spotted dice came to rest, each showing a single pip. The Dark One’s Eyes.

“That’s the best toss or the worst,” Gill said. “It depends on the game you are playing, doesn’t it. Lad, I think you mean to play a dangerous game. Why don’t you take that cup out into the common room and lose a few coppers? You look to me like a fellow who might like a little gamble. I will see the letter gets to the Palace safely.”

“Coline wants you to clean the drains,” Mat told him. “It doesn’t seem to make any odds whether I get an arrow in me trying to deliver that letter or a knife in my back waiting. It’s six up, and a half dozen down. Just you have that meal waiting.” He tossed a gold mark on the table in front of Gill. “Have my things put in a room, innkeeper. If it takes more coin, you will have it. Be careful of the big roll; it’s got some delicate stuff inside.”

As he stalked out, he heard Gill mutter to himself. “I always thought that lad was a rascal. How does he come by gold?”

_ I always win, that’s how _ , Mat thought grimly.  _ I just have to win once more, and I’m done with Elayne, and that’s the last of the White Tower for me. Just once more _ .


	57. A Message Out of the Shadow

CHAPTER 54: A Message Out of the Shadow

Even as he returned to the Inner City on foot, Mat was far from certain that what he intended would actually work. It would, if what he had been told was true, but it was the truth of that he was not sure of. He avoided the oval plaza in front of the Palace, but wandered around the sides of the huge structure and its grounds, along streets that curved with the contours of the hills. The golden domes of the Palace glittered, mockingly out of reach. He had made his way almost all the way around, nearly back to the plaza, when he saw it. A steep slope thick with low flowers, rising from the street to a white wall of rough stone. Several leafy tree limbs stuck over the top of the wall, and he could see the tops of others beyond, in a garden of the Royal Palace.

_ A wall made to look like a cliff, he thought, and a garden on the other side. Maybe Rand was telling the truth _ .

A casual look both ways showed him he had the curving street to himself for the moment. He would have to hurry; the curves did not allow him to see very far; someone could come along any moment. He scrambled up the slope on all fours, careless of how his boots ripped holes in the banks of red and white blossoms. The rough stone of the wall gave plenty of fingerholds, and ridges and knobs provided toeholds even for a man in boots.

_ Careless of them to make it so easy _ , he thought as he climbed. For a moment the climbing took him back home with Rand and Perrin, to a journey they had made beyond the Sand Hills, into the edge of the Mountains of Mist. When they returned to Emond’s Field, they had all caught the fury from everyone who could lay hands on them—him worst of all; everyone assumed it had been his idea— but for three days they had climbed the cliffs, and slept under the sky, and eaten eggs filched from redcrests’ nests, and plump, grey-winged grouse fetched with an arrow, or a stone from a sling, and rabbits caught with snares, all the while laughing about how they were not afraid of the mountains’ bad luck and how they might find a treasure. He had brought home an odd rock from that expedition, with the skull of a good-sized fish somehow pressed into it, and a long, white tail feather dropped by a snow eagle, and a piece of white stone as big as his hand that looked almost as if it had been carved into a man’s ear. He thought it looked like an ear, even if Rand and Perrin did not, and Tam al’Thor had said it might be.

His fingers slipped out of a shallow groove, his balance shifted and he lost the toehold under his left foot. With a gasp, he barely caught hold of the top of the wall, and pulled himself up the rest of the way. For a moment he lay there, breathing hard. It would not have been that long a fall, but enough to break his head.  _ Fool, letting my mind wander like that. Nearly killed myself on those cliffs that way _ . That was all a long time ago. His mother had likely thrown all those things out already, anyway. With one last look each way to make sure no-one had seen him—the curving length of street below was still empty—he dropped inside the Palace grounds.

It was a large garden, with flagstoned walks through expanses of grass among the trees, and grapevines thick on arbours over the walks. And everywhere, flowers. White blossoms covering the pear trees, and white and pink dotting the apple trees. Roses in every colour, and bright golden sunburst, and purple Emond’s Glory, and many he could not identify. Some he was not sure could be real. One had odd blossoms in scarlet and gold that looked almost like birds, and another seemed no different from a sunflower except that its yellow flowers were two feet and more across and stood on stalks as tall as an Ogier.

Boots crunched on flagstone, and he crouched low behind a bush against the wall as two guardsmen marched past, their long, white collars hanging over their breastplates. They never glanced his way, and he grinned to himself.  _ Luck. With just a little luck, they’ll never see me till I hand the bloody thing to Morgase _ .

He slipped through the garden like a shadow, as if stalking rabbits, freezing by a bush or hard against a tree trunk when he heard boots. Two more pairs of soldiers strode by along the paths, the second close enough for him to have taken two steps and goosed them. As they vanished among the flowers and trees, he plucked a deep red starblaze and stuck the wavy-petaled flower in his hair with a grin. This was as much fun as stealing applecakes at Sunday, and easier. Women always kept a sharp watch on their baking; the fool soldiers never took their eyes off the flagstones.

It was not long before he found himself against the white wall of the Palace itself, and began sliding along it behind a row of flowering white roses on slatted frames, searching for a door. There were plenty of wide, arched windows just over his head, but he thought it might be a bit harder to explain being found climbing in through a window than walking down a hall. Two more soldiers appeared, and he froze; they would pass within three paces of him. He could hear voices from the window over his head, two men, just loud enough for him to make out the words.

“—on their way to Tear, Great Master.” The man sounded frightened and obsequious.

“Let them ruin his plans, if they can.” This voice was deeper and stronger, a man used to command. “It will serve him right if some untrained girls can foil him. He was always a fool, and he is still a fool. Is there any word of the boy? He is the one who can destroy us all.”

“No, Great Master. He has vanished. But, Great Master, one of the girls is Morgase’s nit.”

Mat half turned, then caught himself. The soldiers were coming closer; they did not appear to have seen his start through the thickly woven rose stems.  _ Move, you fools! Get by so I can see who this man bloody is!  _ He had lost some of the conversation.

“—has been far too impatient since regaining his freedom,” the deep voice was saying. “He never realized the best plans take time to mature. He wants the world in a day, and  _ Callandor _ besides. The Great Lord take him! He may seize the girl and try to make some use of her. And that might strain my own plans.”

“As you say, Great Master. Shall I order her brought out of Tear?”

“No. The fool would take it as a move against him, if he knew. And who can say what he chooses to watch aside from the sword? See that she dies quietly, Comar. Let her death attract no notice at all.” His laughter was a rich rumble. “Those ignorant slatterns in their Tower will have a difficult time producing her after this disappearance. This may all be just as well. Let it be done quickly. Quickly, before he has time to take her himself.”

The two soldiers were almost abreast of him; Mat tried to will their feet to move faster.

“Great Master,” the other man said uncertainly, “that may be difficult. We know she is on her way to Tear, but we do not which ship she takes, or if she means to ride overland. And it may not be easy to find her once she reaches Tear, Great Master. Perhaps if you—”

“Are there none but fools in the world, now?” the deep voice said harshly. “Do you think I could move in Tear without him knowing? I do not mean to fight him, not now, not yet. Bring me the girl’s head, Comar, or you will pray for me to take yours!”

“Yes, Great Master. It shall be as you say. Yes. Yes.”

The soldiers crunched past, never looking to either side. Mat only waited for their backs to pass before leaping up to catch the broad stone windowsill and pull himself high enough to see through the window.

He barely noticed the fringed Tarabon carpet on the floor, worth a fat purse of silver. One of the broad, carved doors was swinging shut. A tall man, with wide shoulders and a deep chest straining the green silk of his silver-embroidered coat, was staring at the door with dark blue eyes. His black beard was close cut, with a streak of white over his chin. All in all, he looked a hard man, and one used to giving orders.

“Yes, Great Master,” he said suddenly, and Mat almost lost his grip on the sill. He had thought this must be the man with the deep voice, but it was the cringing voice he heard. Not cringing now, but still the same. “It shall be as you say, Great Master,” the man said bitterly. “I will cut the wench’s head off myself. As soon as I can find her!” He strode through the door, and Mat let himself back down.

For a moment he crouched there behind the rose frames. Someone in the Palace wanted Elayne dead.  _ What under the Light are they doing, going to Tear? _

He pulled the Daughter-Heir’s letter out of the lining of his coat and frowned at it. Maybe, with this in his hand, Morgase would believe him. He could describe one of the men. But the time for skulking was past; the big fellow could be off to Tear before he even found Morgase, and whatever she did then, there was no guarantee it could stop him.

Taking a deep breath, Mat wiggled between two of the rose frames at the cost of only a few pricks and snags from the thorns, and started down the flagstone path after the soldiers. He held Elayne’s letter out in front of him so the golden lily seal was plainly visible, and went over in his mind exactly what he meant to say. When he had been sneaking about, guardsmen kept popping up like mushrooms after rain, but now he walked almost the length of the garden without seeing even one. He passed several doors. It would not be so good to enter the Palace without permission—the Guards might do nasty things first and listen after—but he was beginning to think about going through a door when it opened and a helmetless young officer with one golden knot on his shoulder strode out.

The man’s hand immediately went to his sword hilt, and he had a foot of steel bared before Mat could push the letter toward him. “Elayne, the Daughter-Heir, sends this letter to her mother, Queen Morgase, Captain.” He held the letter so the lily seal was prominent.

The officer’s dark eyes flickered to either side, as if searching for other people, without really ever leaving Mat. “How did you come into this garden?” He did not draw his sword further, but he did not sheath it, either. “Elber is on the main gates. He’s a fool, but he would never let anyone wander loose into the Palace.”

“A fat man with eyes like a rat?” Mat cursed his tongue, but the officer gave a sharp nod; he almost smiled, too, but it did not seem to lessen his vigilance, or his suspicion. “He grew angry when he learned I had come from Tar Valon, and he wouldn’t even give me a chance to show the letter or mention the Daughter-Heir’s name. He said he would arrest me if I did not go, so I climbed the wall. I promised I would deliver this to Queen Morgase herself, you see, Captain. I promised it, and I always keep my promises. You see the seal?”

“That bloody garden wall again,” the officer muttered. “It should be built three times so high.” He eyed Mat. “Guardsman-lieutenant, not captain. I am Guardsman-lieutenant Tallanvor. I recognize the Daughter-Heir’s seal.” His sword finally slid all the way back into the sheath. He stretched out a hand; not his sword hand. “Give me the letter, and I will take it to the Queen. After I show you out. Some would not be so gentle at finding you walking about loose.”

“I promised to put it in her hands myself,” Mat said.  _ Light, I never thought they might not let me give it to her _ . “I did promise. To the Daughter-Heir.”

Mat hardly realized Tallanvor’s hand was moving before the officer’s sword was resting against his neck. “I will take you to the Queen, countryman,” Tallanvor said softly. “But know that I can take your head before you blink if you so much as think of harming her.”

Mat put on his best grin. That slightly curved blade felt sharp on the side of his neck. “I am a loyal Andorman,” he said, “and a faithful subject of the Queen, the Light illumine her. Why, if I had been here during the winter, I’d have followed Lord Gaebril for sure.”

Tallanvor gave him a tight-mouthed stare, then finally took his sword away. Mat swallowed and stopped himself from touching his throat to see if he had been cut.

“Take the flower out of your hair,” Tallanvor said as he sheathed his blade. “Do you think you came here courting?”

Mat snatched the starblaze blossom out of his hair and followed the officer.  _ Bloody fool, putting a flower in my hair. I have to stop playing the fool, now _ .

It was not so much following, really, for Tallanvor kept an eye on him even while he led the way. The result was an odd sort of procession, with the officer to one side of him and ahead, but half turned in case Mat tried anything. For his part, Mat attempted to look as innocent as a babe splashing in his bathwater.

The colourful tapestries on the walls had earned their weavers silver, and so had the rugs on the white tile floors, even here in the halls. Gold and silver stood everywhere, plates and platters, bowls and cups, on chests and low cabinets of polished wood, as fine as anything he had seen in the Tower. Servants darted everywhere, in red livery with white collars and cuffs and the White Lion of Andor on their breasts. He found himself wondering if Morgase played at dice.  _ Wool-headed thought. Queens don’t toss dice. But when I give her this letter and tell her somebody in her Palace means to kill Elayne, I’ll wager she gives me a fat purse _ . He indulged himself in a small fancy of being made a lord; surely the man who revealed a plot to murder the Daughter-Heir could expect some such reward.

Tallanvor led him down so many corridors and across so many courtyards that he was beginning to wonder if he could find his way out again without help, when suddenly one of the courts had more than servants in it. A columned walk surrounded the court, with a round pool in the middle with white and yellow fish swimming beneath lily pads and floating white water lilies. Men in colourful coats embroidered in gold or silver, women with wide dresses worked even more elaborately, stood attendance on a woman with red-gold hair who sat on the raised rim of the pool, trailing her fingers in the water and staring sadly at the fish that rose to her fingertips in hopes of food. A Great Serpent ring encircled the third finger of her left hand. A tall, dark man stood at her shoulder, the red silk of his coat almost hidden by the gold leaves and scrolls worked on it, but it was the woman who held Mat’s eye.

He did not need the wreath of finely made golden roses in her hair, or the stole hanging over her dress of white slashed with red, the red length of the stole embroidered with the Lions of Andor, to know he was looking at Morgase, by the Grace of the Light, Queen of Andor, Defender of the Realm, Protector of the People, High Seat of House Trakand. She had Elayne’s face and beauty, but it was what Elayne would have when she had ripened. Every other woman in the courtyard faded into the background by her very presence.

_ I’d dance a jig with her, and steal a kiss in the moonlight, too, no matter how old she is _ . He shook himself.  _ Remember exactly who she is! _

Tallanvor went to one knee, a fist pressed to the white stone of the courtyard. “My Queen, I bring a messenger who bears a letter from the Lady Elayne.”

Mat eyed the man’s posture, then contented himself with a deep bow. “From the Daughter-Heir ... uh ... my Queen.” He held out the letter as he bowed, so the golden yellow wax of the seal was visible.  _ Once she reads it, and knows Elayne is all right, I will tell her _ . Morgase turned her deep blue eyes on him _. Light! As soon as she’s in a good mood _ .

“You bring a letter from my scapegrace child?” Her voice was cold, but with an edge that spoke of heat ready to rise. “That must mean she is alive, at least! Where is she?”

“In Tar Valon, my Queen,” he managed to get out.  _ Light, wouldn’t I like to see a staring match between her and the Amyrlin _ . On second thought, he decided he would rather not. “At least, she was when I left.”

Morgase waved a hand impatiently, and Tallanvor rose to take the letter from Mat and hand it to her. For a moment she frowned at the lily seal, then broke it with a sharp twist of her wrists. She murmured to herself as she read, shaking her head at every other line. “She can say no more, can she?” she muttered. “We shall see whether she holds to that ...”Abruptly her face brightened. “Gaebril, she has been raised to the Accepted. Less than a year in the Tower, and raised already.” The smile went as suddenly as it had come, and her mouth tightened. “When I put my hands on the wretched child, she will wish she were still a Novice.”

_ Light _ , Mat thought,  _ will nothing put her in a good mood?  _ He decided he was just going to have to say it out, but he wished she did not look as if she meant to cut someone’s head off. “My Queen, by chance I overheard—”

“Be silent, boy,” the dark man in the gold-encrusted coat said calmly. He was a handsome man, almost as good-looking as Galad and nearly as youthful-seeming, despite the white streaking his temples, but built on a bigger scale, with more than Rand’s height and very nearly Perrin’s shoulders. “We will hear what you have to say in a moment.” He reached over Morgase’s shoulder and plucked the letter out of her hand. Her glare turned on him—Mat could see her temper heating—but the dark man laid a strong hand on her shoulder, never taking his eyes off what he was reading, and Morgase’s anger melted. “It seems she has left the Tower again,” he said. “On the service of the Amyrlin Seat. The woman oversteps herself again, Morgase.”

Mat had no trouble holding his tongue.  _ Luck _ . It was stuck to the roof of his mouth.  _ Sometimes I don’t know if it’s good or bad _ . The dark man was the owner of the deep voice, the “Great Master” who wanted Elayne’s head.  _ She called him Gaebril. Her advisor wants to murder Elayne? Light! _

And Morgase was staring up at him like an adoring dog with her master’s hand on her shoulder. Gaebril turned nearly black eyes on Mat. The man had a forceful gaze, and a look of knowing.

“What can you tell us of this, boy?”

“Nothing ... uh ... my Lord.” Mat cleared his throat; the man’s stare was worse than the Amyrlin’s. “I went to Tar Valon to see my sister. She’s a Novice. Else Grinwell. I’m Thom Grinwell my Lord. The Lady Elayne learned I was meaning to see Caemlyn on my way back home—I’m from Comfrey, my Lord; a little village north of Baerlon; I’d never seen any place bigger than Baerlon before I went to Tar Valon—and she—the Lady Elayne, I mean—gave me that letter to bring.” He thought Morgase had glanced at him when he said he came from north of Baerlon, but he knew there was a village called Comfrey there; he remembered hearing it mentioned.

Gaebril nodded, but he said, “Do you know where Elayne was going, boy? Or on what business? Speak the truth, and you have nothing to fear. Lie, and you will be put to the question.”

Mat did not have to pretend a worried frown. “My Lord, I only saw the Daughter-Heir the once. She gave me the letter—and a gold mark!—and told me to bring it to the Queen. I know no more of what is in it than I’ve heard here.” Gaebril appeared to consider it, with no sign on that dark face of whether he believed a word or not.

“No, Gaebril,” Morgase said suddenly. “Too many have been put to the question. I can see the need as you have shown it to me, but not for this. Not a boy who only brought a letter whose contents he does not know.”

“As my Queen commands, so shall it be,” the dark man said. The tone was respectful, but he touched her cheek in a way that made colour come to her face and her lips part as if she expected a kiss.

Morgase drew an unsteady breath. “Tell me, Thom Grinwell, did my daughter look well when you saw her?”

“Yes, my Queen. She smiled, and laughed, and showed a saucy tongue—I mean ...”

Morgase laughed softly at the look on his face. “Do not be afraid, young man. Elayne does have a saucy tongue, far too often for her own good. I am happy she is well.” Those blue eyes studied him deeply. “A young man who has left his small village often finds it difficult to return to it. I think you will travel far before you see Comfrey again. Perhaps you will even return to Tar Valon. If you do, and if you see my daughter, tell her that what is said in anger is often repented. I will not remove her from the White Tower before time. Tell her that I often think of my own time there, and miss the quiet talks with Sheriam in her study. Tell her that I said that, Thom Grinwell.”

Mat shrugged uncomfortably. “Yes, my Queen. But ... uh ... I do not mean to go to Tar Valon again. Once in any man’s life is enough. My da needs me to help work the farm. My sisters will be stuck with the milking, with me gone.”

Gaebril laughed, a deep rumble of amusement. “Are you anxious then to milk cows, boy? Perhaps you should see something of the world before it changes. Here!” He produced a purse and tossed it; Mat felt coins through the wash-leather when he caught it. “If Elayne can give you a gold mark for carrying her letter, I will give you ten for bringing it safely. See the world before you go back to your cows.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Mat lifted the purse and managed a weak grin. “Thank you, my Lord.”

But the dark man had already waved him away and turned to Morgase with his fists on his hips. “With the Valreio busy fighting the Whitecloaks, I think the time has come, Morgase, to lance that festering sore to the east. By your marriage to Taringail Damodred, you have a claim to the Sun Throne of Cairhien. The Queen’s Guards can make that claim as strong as any. Perhaps I can even aid them, in some small way. Hear me.”

Tallanvor touched Mat on the arm, and they backed away, bowing. Mat did not think anyone noticed. Gaebril was still speaking, and every lord and lady seemed to hang on his words. Morgase was frowning as she listened, yet she nodded as much as any other.

From the small courtyard with its pool of fish, Tallanvor led Mat swiftly to the great court at the front of the Palace, behind the tall, gilded gates gleaming in the sun. It would be midday, soon. Mat felt an urge to be gone, a need to hurry. It was hard keeping his pace to the young officer’s. Someone might wonder, if he started running, and maybe—just maybe—things had really been the way they seemed back there. Maybe Gaebril really did not suspect that he knew. Maybe. He remembered those nearly black eyes, seizing and holding like a pair of pitchfork tines through his head.  _ Light, maybe _ . He forced himself to walk as if he had all the time in the world—Just a haybrain country lout staring at the rugs and the gold. Just a mudfoot who’d never think anyone might put a knife in his back—until Tallanvor let him through a sallyport in one of the gates, and followed him out.

The fat officer with the rat’s eyes was still there with the Guards, and when he saw Mat his face went red again. Before he could open his mouth, though, Tallanvor spoke. “He has delivered a letter to the Queen from the Daughter-Heir. Be glad, Elber, that neither Morgase nor Gaebril knows you tried to keep it from them. Lord Gaebril was most interested in the Lady Elayne’s missive.”

Elber’s face went from red to as white as his collar. He glared once at Mat, and scuttled back along the line of guardsmen, his beady eyes peering through the bars of their face-guards as if to determine whether any of them had seen his fear.

“Thank you,” Mat told Tallanvor, and meant it. He had forgotten all about the fat man until he was staring him in the face again. “Fare you well, Tallanvor.”

He started across the oval plaza, trying not to walk too fast, and was surprised when Tallanvor walked along.  _ Light, is he Gaebril’s man, or Morgase’s? _ He was just beginning to feel an itch between his shoulder blades, as if a knife might be about to go in— _ He doesn’t know, burn me! Gaebril doesn’t suspect I know! _ —when the young officer finally spoke.

“Did you spend long in Tar Valon? In the White Tower? Long enough to learn anything of it?”

“I was only there three days,” Mat said cautiously. He would have made the time less—if he could have delivered the letter without admitting ever being in Tar Valon, he would have—but he did not think the man would believe he had gone all that way to see his sister and left the same day.  _ What under the Light is he after? _ “I learned what I saw in that time. Nothing of any importance. They did not guide me around and tell me things. I was only there to see Else.”

“You must have heard something, man. Who is Sheriam? Does talking to her in her study mean anything?”

Mat shook his head vigorously to keep relief from showing on his face. “I don’t know who she is,” he lied. “Why should it mean anything?”

“I do not know,” Tallanvor said softly. “There is too much I do not know. Sometimes I think she is trying to say something ...” He gave Mat a sharp look. “Are you a loyal Andorman, Thom Grinwell?”

“Of course I am.”  _ Light, if I say that much more often, I may start believing it _ . “What about you? Do you serve Morgase and Gaebril loyally?”

Tallanvor gave him a look as hard as the dice’s mercy. “I serve Morgase, Thom Grinwell. Her, I serve to the death. Fare you well!” He turned and strode back toward the Palace with a hand gripping his sword hilt.

Watching him go, Mat muttered to himself. “I will wager this”—he gave Gaebril’s wash-leather purse a toss—“that Gaebril says the same.” Whatever games they played in the Palace, he wanted no place in any of them. And he meant to make sure Nynaeve and the others were out of them, too.  _ Fool women! Now I have to keep their bacon from burning instead of looking after my own! _ He did not start to run until the streets hid him from the Palace.


	58. To Race the Shadow

CHAPTER 55: To Race the Shadow

Mat kept glancing back warily as he made his way back to The Queen’s Blessing. He took the long way around, darting through alleys and along wide streets, in hopes of throwing off any pursuers. Whether he lost them, or whether they had never been there to begin with, he was alone when he finally slipped around to the back of the inn. Twilight was upon them by then but he wasn’t sure he’d bother staying the night at Gill’s place, even if he had paid for it already. He was too wound up to get much sleep, and the sooner he was on his way to Tear, the sooner he could warn Elayne and Nynaeve of the danger they were in.

The bulky man from before was still at his post, and still scratching that same cat. His heavy-lidded eyes didn’t widen, but he rose from his perch when Mat crept back towards the kitchen door, and peered over Mat’s shoulder as though expecting to see something there.

_ I suppose I look like I’m being chased _ . Suppressing a sigh, Mat stood up straight and plastered a grin on his face. “Back again, nothing to worry about though,” he said. He wished he could remember the man’s name. Those bloody holes in his memory were annoying.

The bouncer—Mat was nearly sure that was what Gill had hired him for, and he certainly looked the part, with his oft-broken nose and sunken knuckles—the bouncer studied him with a street-wise calmness that Mat liked before he spoke. “No more troubles with the Whitecloaks or the Aes Sedai then, Cauthon? Such things seem to follow you and your al’Thor friend, way I remember it.”

Mat rubbed at the back of his head vigorously, embarrassed that the man remembered his name when he himself couldn’t return the favour. “Ah, you know; when is there ever not trouble with that lot? Haven’t run into any of them lately though, thank the Light. If I have my way, I never will again.” Joline was a good long way off now; so far off in fact that he could almost forget the damned bond she had put on him. Not far enough to make it go away though, mores the pity.

He hastened on though the inn and found Gill still in the library. Aludra had joined him while Mat was gone. They were sat over a stones board and a calico cat was on the table, washing herself. A tray holding the remains of a meal sat near the cat, and Mat’s belongings were gone from the armchair where he’d left them. Gill and Aludra each had a wine cup at their elbow.

“I will be leaving, Master Gill,” he said. “You can keep the coin and take a meal out of it. I’ll stay long enough to eat, but then I am on the road to Tear.”

Aludra had washed herself and changed into a new dress of a deep yellow, almost gold colour. It was low enough to show the tops of her breasts, and the bodice was tight enough to squeeze them together in a very eye-catching way. Mat was tempted to try and persuade her to come to Tear with him, but it would be too dangerous, even for someone with such nice cleavage. He was so busy checking out her breasts that he only belatedly noticed the angry look in her eyes. “In a hurry to leave, are you, Mat Cauthon?” She sat back in her chair, the game forgotten. She looked almost offended, Mat thought, with her lips pinched together like that.

“I wish I could stay, Aludra,” he said earnestly. And honestly, he realised with a jolt of surprise. “But something’s come up.”

“You delivered the Lady Elayne’s letter, then?” the innkeeper said eagerly. “And kept your skin whole, it seems. Did you really climb over that wall like the other young man? No, that does not matter. Did the letter soothe Morgase? Do we still have to keep tiptoeing on eggs, man?”

“I suppose it soothed her,” Mat said. “I think it did.” He hesitated a moment, bouncing Gaebril’s purse on his hand. It made a clinking sound. He had not looked to see if it really held ten gold marks; the weight was about right. “Master Gill, what can you tell me of Gaebril? Aside from the fact that he does not like Aes Sedai. You said he had not been in Caemlyn long?”

“Well, lad,” Gill said, “there is not much to tell. He came out of the east during the winter. Somewhere out your way, I think. Maybe it was the Theren. I’ve heard the mountains mentioned.”

“We have no lords in the Theren,” Mat said. “Maybe there are some up around Baerlon. I don’t know.”

“That could be it, lad. I had never even heard of him before, but I do not keep up with the country lords. Came while Morgase was still in Tar Valon, he did, and half the city was afraid the Tower was going to make her disappear, too. The other half did not want her back. The riots started up again, the way they did last year at the tail of winter.”

Mat shook his head. “I do not care about politics, Master Gill. It’s Gaebril I want to know about.”

“It is Gaebril I am telling you about, lad,” Gill said. “During the riots, he made himself leader of the faction supporting Morgase—got himself wounded in the fighting, I hear—and by the time she returned, he had it all suppressed. Gareth Bryne didn’t like Gaebril’s methods—he can be a very hard man—but Morgase was so pleased to find order restored that she named him to the post Elaida used to hold.”

The innkeeper stopped. Mat waited for him to go on, but he did not. “What else?” Mat asked. “The man has to have a reason for what he does. If he marries Morgase, would he be king when she dies? If Elayne were dead, too, I mean?”

Aludra shook her head and muttered something about fools, while Gill laughed. “Andor has a queen, lad. Always a queen. Not many nations will allow a man to rule, other than Tear I suppose, and even then it’s only as part of a council of High Lords and High Ladies. If Morgase and Elayne both died—the Light send it not so!—then Morgase’s nearest female relative would take the throne. At least there’s no question of who that is this time—a cousin, the Lady Dyelin—not like the Succession, after Tigraine vanished. It took two years before Morgase sat on the Lion Throne, then. Dyelin could keep Gaebril as her advisor, or marry him to cement the line—though she would not likely do that unless Morgase had had a child by him—but he would be the Prince Consort even then. No more than that. Thank the Light, Morgase is a young woman, yet. And Elayne is healthy. Light! The letter did not say she is ill, did it?”

“She is well.”  _ For now, at least _ . “Isn’t there anything else you can tell me about him? You do not seem to like him. Why?”

The innkeeper frowned in thought, and scratched his chin, and shook his head. “I suppose I would not like him marrying Morgase, but I do not truly know why. He’s said to be a fine man; the nobles all look to him. I do not like most of the men he’s brought into the Guards. Too much has changed since he came, but I cannot lay it all at his door. There just seem to be too many people muttering in corners since he came. You would think we were all Cairhienin, the way they were before this civil war, all plotting and trying to find advantage. I keep having bad dreams since Gaebril came, and I am not the only one. Fool thing to worry about, dreams. It is probably only worry about Elayne, and what Morgase means to do concerning the White Tower, and people acting like Cairhienin. I just do not know. Why are you asking all these questions about Lord Gaebril?”

“Because he wants to kill Elayne,” Mat said, “and Nynaeve with her.” There was nothing useful in what Gill had told him that he could see.  _ Burn me, I don’t have to know why he wants them dead. I just have to stop it _ . They were both staring at him as if he were mad.

“Are you coming down sick again?” Gill said suspiciously. “I remember you staring crossways at everyone the last time. It’s either that, or else you think this is some sort of prank. You have the look of a prankster to me. If that is it, it’s a nasty one!”

Mat grimaced. “It is no bloody prank. I overheard him telling some man called Comar to cut Elayne’s head off. And Nynaeve’s while he was about it. A big man, with a white stripe in his beard.”

“That does sound like Lord Comar,” Gill said slowly. “He was a fine soldier, but it is said he left the Guard over some matter of weighted dice. Not that anyone says it to his face; Comar was one of the best blades in the Guards. You really mean it, don’t you?”

“I think he does,” Aludra said slowly. “Me, I very much think he does. You and trouble are like moths and flames, Mat. But I cannot tell which one draws which.” She shook her head.

“The Light shine on us!” Gill said fervently. “What did Morgase say? You did tell her, didn’t you? The Light burn you you did tell her!”

“Of course, I did,” Mat said bitterly. “With Gaebril standing right there, and her gazing at him like a lovesick lapdog! I said, ‘I may be a simple village man who just climbed over your wall half an hour past, but I already happen to know your trusted advisor there, the one you seem to be in love with, intends to murder your daughter.’ Light, man, she’d have cut my head off!”

“The mighty, they are quick to step on the meek, for even the smallest of errors, yes?” Aludra said to Gill. Her lips thinned again, but Mat didn’t think it was him that had gotten her goat this time.

The innkeeper scrubbed both hands through his greying hair in annoyance at having his precious queen criticised, but he soon let out a sigh and nodded agreement with Aludra’s words. “There has to be something I can do. I haven’t held a sword since the Aiel War, but ... Well, that would do no good. Get myself killed and do nothing by it. But I must do something!”

“Rumours might serve you,” Aludra said. “Me, I will not get involved in this. I do not think I will stay in Caemlyn long, in fact, if there is such a conflict in the brewing. But in the Guild, we were always quick to squash any rumours that painted us in a poor light. Nobles do the same, where they can. This is not just done because of fragile egos.”

A sudden smile appeared on Gill’s face. “Morgase always pays attention to what her people think. If enough say they are suspicious of Gaebril, she might grow suspicious, too. I even know who to tell to start it. All I need do is mention to Gilda that I dreamed it and in three days she’ll have told serving girls in half the New City that it is a fact. She is the greatest gossip the Creator ever made.”

“Just be certain it cannot be traced back to you, Master Gill,” Mat cautioned him.

“No fear of that, lad. Why a week ago, a man told me one of my own bad dreams as a thing he’d heard from somebody who’d had it from someone else. Gilda must have eavesdropped on me telling it to Coline, but when I asked, he gave me a string of names that led all the way to the other side of Caemlyn and vanished. Why, I actually went over there and found the last man, just out of curiosity to see how many mouths had passed it, and he claimed it was his very own dream.”

Mat did not really care what he did with his rumours—no rumours would help Nynaeve or the others. “I mean to be as far toward Tear as I can before nightfall.”

“Off to rescue the princess, are you?” Aludra sniffed, but she smiled while she did it. “Young heroes. Didn’t you ask me to kick you if you ever did this again?”

Mat raised his hands defensively when he saw her rise from her chair.  _ She’d bloody do it, too. Bloody woman! _ “I’m not acting the hero!” Light, he was not that much of a fool! “I just need to warn Nynaeve that she’s in danger, that’s all. If Miss Snoot and the rest get bundled up in it, well, that’s hardly my fault!”

“Miss Snoot?” Gill muttered, scratching his head.

“The big game, you may talk it, Mat, but I do not think you play it so well as you say,” Aludra teased as she walked by. She kicked him, too, just like she’d said she would, but it was such a light tap that Mat felt almost moved. Not that he let that show, of course.

“You’ve seen me play, Aludra. You know how good I am,” he said to her back as she sauntered from the room. She didn’t answer, just waved to him over her shoulder as she stepped out of his life.

“Well,” Gill said after an awkward silence, “I suppose if you are leaving, lad, I had better see about getting you that meal.” He pushed back his chair and started for the door.

“Hold this for me, Master Gill,” Mat said, and tossed him the wash-leather purse.

“What’s this, lad? Coin?”

“Stakes. Gaebril doesn’t know it, but he and I have a wager.” The cat jumped down as Mat picked up the wooden dice cup and spun the dice out on the table. Five sixes. “And I always win.”


	59. A Slave in a Crown

CHAPTER 56: A Slave in a Crown

Sometimes she had the strangest feeling, as if something was very wrong with her and her world. A fury would build in her and she would make decisive plans to fix the problem. But then he would look at her and all her desires for change would be replaced with a desire for him, as though the most important thing in her world was simply to please him.

Gaebril’s cock filled Morgase’s mind as surely as it filled her body. He lay on her bed with his hands behind his head, naked and beautiful, his dark muscles delighting her eye and his dark cock delighting her pussy as she rode him with wanton abandon. He didn’t echo her moans of pleasure as she bounced on his cock, her red-gold hair flying around her. Instead, Gaebril mused about his plans.

“It will be easy to add Cairhien to my gamebag. None of the others are interested in it. They’ve always been too eager for the quick satisfaction, with never a thought for the dangers. Move faster, slut.” A wave of pleasure coursed through Morgase’s body. She’d never liked it when men spoke crassly in her presence before, but somehow when it was Gaebril it thrilled her immensely. Her hips rose and fell at a blistering pace. “As I was saying,” Gaebril continued calmly. “Andor and Cairhien will make a fine beginning, and perhaps I will take these small lands of Far Madding and Ghealdan as well. But we will steer clear of Tear and Illian and the like. It would be better not to provoke a conflict until our power is immeasurably greater than our foe’s.”

He smiled at the thought of ruling so much land, and his smile caused Morgase to climax for the tenth time that day. She collapsed upon him, stupefied by pleasure. None of her other lovers had ever been able to do such things, not clever Thom or solid Gareth and certainly not her husband. Gaebril played her body as though it were an instrument and he a master musician. She had only room in her head for the vaguest of concerns for how many lives would be lost, Andoran and otherwise, if she went along with what he proposed.

“I have found a man to replace that fool Bryne. Hanlon is his name. He comes highly recommended. You can name him to the position at tomorrow’s court.”

Morgase frowned. Gareth Bryne. He’d been a stubborn one, but loyal. Highly experienced and highly respected. Why had she dismissed him again? “I should call Gareth back ...” she said confusedly. He hadn’t approved of Gaebril, she recalled. He’d asked her what was wrong with her and then ...

“Why would you think of that?” Gaebril tsked. “And I don’t recall telling you to stop moving.”

Sweat soaked Morgase’s body. Her muscles ached in a way they never had before, not even during her time in the White Tower, but she pushed herself up again, and began rubbing her raw sex along Gaebril’s huge, thick cock. She winced as she did so, but he didn’t care about that. He didn’t care about her ...

“Appointing a stranger to Captain-General of the Guards. It’s not the proper way,” she groaned.

Gaebril laughed. “You remind me of those prudish old fools we had whipped out of here earlier. ‘The proper way’,” he snorted derisively. “The proper way is whatever I want it to be.” The old fools he spoke of had been her friends and supporters. But she’d laughed when he ordered them birched.

“I-I don’t want to—”

“Yes you do,” he insisted, and suddenly she did.

“If these Andoran fools won’t accept my man as Captain-General of the Queen’s Guards then we shall phase out that institution and replace it with something else. You’ll order it done, won’t you, my pet?”

_ Disband the Queen’s Guards? Preposterous!  _ “That is a foolish idea,” Morgase groaned, still bouncing on Gaebril’s cock.

He scowled at that and Morgase felt fear that almost stole her breath. She’d never feared a lover before. She’d never obeyed one before either, but when Gaebril told her to get off him, she moved from his lap immediately.

“You are irritating at times, wench, but I suppose the struggle adds a little spice to things,” Gaebril mused. “So long as your struggles do not get too irritating. Get on your hands and knees and present that fine ass of yours to your master.”

Morgase turned her back to him and crawled across the fine sheets of her bed, she spread her legs and arched her back, offering her wet hole for his use. She was nothing more than a receptacle for his cock, and in that moment could not imagine ever having wanted to be anything else.

Gaebril grabbed her by the hips and rammed himself home. “Tell me to spank you,” he commanded, and she could do nothing but obey.

“Spank me, master!”

He did, his hard, strong hand cracking against her soft cheek in time with the thrusts of his cock. She cried out in pain and pleasure, shame and fear.

“I wonder what your lords and ladies would think if they could see you now. Their ‘Queen’, the cocksleeve. Would they be appalled, or jealous?” Gaebril chuckled. “Perhaps, when things have gotten more stable, we can show them this side of you. Would you like that?”

Morgase was incapable of deciding what she liked and what she hated anymore. Her mind wouldn’t work properly. There was too much pleasure; it seared and blackened her thoughts.

But Gaebril didn’t care if she answered or not. “Yes. I think I shall enjoy that,” he laughed. “I will sit on the throne and summon you to me, while the whole court is assembled. You’ll be naked of course, with that pretty, gold crown on your head. We may have to tie it on though, for I’ll expect you to use your mouth energetically, to show them all, beyond a shadow of a doubt, how much you love it. Would you like that? Having your subjects watch you take my load in your mouth?”

_ In front of my people? I—  _ She groaned. _ It feels so good. _

“And you’ll keep your legs spread, so they can see how wet you are. We’ll make you squirt all over the marble, lest anyone’s vision be too poor to see what a worthless slut you are. Won’t that be fun, Morgase? Your whole court will be staring at your dirty cunt, watching you come as you suck upon my giant cock. Tell me you are looking forward to it.”

Horror flickered inside her, but that flicker was buried beneath an unnatural desire. “Yes! Yes, Gaebril!” she cried as he fucked her utterly. “Yes, master!”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he said in a voice of purest satisfaction. He hilted inside her and she felt her womb being flooded with his hot seed. The come pouring through her body washed away her thoughts and Morgase fell forward on the bed, used and abused and incapable of wanting to be anything but.


	60. The Breaking Storm

CHAPTER 57: The Breaking Storm

Perrin opened his eyes slowly, staring up at the plain white plastered ceiling. It took a moment to realize he was in a four-posted bed, lying on a feather mattress with a blanket over him and a goose-down pillow under his head. A myriad of scents danced in his nose; the feathers and the wool of the blanket, a goose roasting, bread and honeycakes baking. One of the Winespring Inn’s rooms. With unmistakable bright morning light streaming in at the white-curtained windows. Morning. He fumbled at his side. Unbroken skin met his fingers, but he felt weaker than at any time since being shot. A small enough price, though, and a fair enough exchange. His throat felt parched, too.

When he moved, Faile leaped up from a chair beside the small stone fireplace, tossing aside a red blanket and stretching. She had changed to a darker narrow-skirted riding dress, and wrinkles in the grey silk said she had slept in that chair. “Moiraine said you needed sleep,” she said. He reached toward the white pitcher on the small table beside the bed, and she hurriedly poured a cup of water and held it for him to drink. “You need to stay right here for another two or three days, until you have your strength back.”

The words sounded normal, except for an undercurrent he barely caught, a tightness at the corners of her eyes. “What is wrong?”

She replaced the cup carefully on the bedside table and smoothed her dress. “Nothing is wrong.” The taut underlying tone was even clearer.

“Faile, don’t lie to me. Is Emi well?”

“I do not lie!” she snapped. “Your cousin is as well as she can be, after getting Healed. Mistress al’Vere has put her up in another room. I will have some breakfast brought up to you, and you’re lucky I do that, calling me—”

He was relieved to know Emi had been seen to, but he still snorted. “The girl with the sheep-raising, merchant father, who knows lots of soldiers doesn’t lie.”

Her back went very stiff. After a moment, she turned with an unreadable look in her tilted eyes. Another minute passed before she said, in a flat voice, “My father is Davram ni Ghaline t’Bashere, Guardian of the Blightborder, Defender of the Heartland, Marshal-General to Queen Tenobia of Saldaea. And her uncle, by way of his marriage to Lady Deira of House Bashere, Lady of Bashere, Tyr and Sidona.”

“Light! What was all that about him being a wood merchant, or a fur dealer? I seem to remember him dealing in ice peppers once, too.”

“It was not a lie,” she said sharply, then in a weaker voice, “Just not ... the whole truth. My mother’s estates do produce lumber and fine woods, and ice peppers, and furs, and more besides. And her stewards sell them for her, so father does trade in them. In a way.”

“Why couldn’t you just tell me? Hiding things. Lying. You’re a lady!” He frowned at her accusingly. He had not expected this. A small merchant for a father, a former soldier, maybe, but not this. “Light, what are you doing running around as a Hunter of the Horn? Don’t tell me the Lady of Bashere and all that just sent you off to find adventure.”

She came back to sit beside him. For some reason she seemed very intent on his face. “My two older brothers died, Perrin, one fighting Trollocs, the other in a fall from his horse hunting. I was the only girl, and that made me the heir, which meant I had to study account books and trading. While my younger brothers learned to be soldiers, while they were being readied for adventures, I had to learn how to manage the estates! It is the woman’s duty. Duty! It is dull, dry and boring. Buried in paper and clerks.

“When Father took Maedin with him to the Blightborder—he’s two years younger than I—that was more than I could stand. Girls are not taught the sword, or war, in Saldaea, but Father had named an old soldier from his first command as my footman, and Eran was always more than happy to teach me to use knives and fight with my hands. I think it amused him. In any case, when Father took Maedin with him, the news had arrived calling the Great Hunt of the Horn, so I ... left. I wrote Mother a letter explaining, and I ... left. And I reached Illian in time to take the oath of a Hunter ...” Picking up a damp cloth, she patted at his face. “You really should sleep if you can.”

“I suppose you are the Lady Bashere or some such?” he said. “How did you ever come to like a common blacksmith?”

“The word is ‘love’, Perrin Aybara.” The firmness of her voice was at sharp odds with the gentle way that the cloth moved on his face. “And you are not such a common blacksmith, I think.” The cloth paused. “Perrin, what did that Aram fellow mean about running with wolves? Raen mentioned this Elyas, too.”

For a moment he was frozen, unbreathing. Yet he had just berated her for keeping secrets from him. It was what he got for being hasty and angry. Swing a hammer in haste, and you usually hit your own thumb. It reminded him of that time Rand had gathered his Inner Circle and forced them all to confess their secrets to each other. Perrin hadn’t wanted to speak then either, but in the end he’d told all. Almost all. He exhaled slowly, and told Faile the truth. How he had met Elyas Machera and learned he could talk to wolves. How his eyes had changed colour, grown sharper, and his hearing and his sense of smell, like a wolf’s. About the wolf dream. About what would happen to him, if he ever lost his hold on humanity. “It’s so easy. Sometimes, especially in the dream, I forget I’m a man, not a wolf. If one of these times I don’t remember quickly enough, if I lose hold, I’ll be a wolf. In my head, at least. A sort of half-wrong image of a wolf. There won’t be anything of me left.” He stopped, waiting for her to flinch, to move away.

“If your ears are really that sharp,” she said calmly, “I will have to watch what I say close to you.”

He caught her hand to stop her patting. “Did you hear anything I said? What will your father and mother think, Faile? A half-wolf blacksmith. You’re a lady! Light!”

“I heard every word. Father will approve. He has always said our noble bloodlines are growing too soft; not like it was in the old days. I know he thinks I am terribly soft.” She gave him a smile fierce enough for any wolf. “Of course, Mother always wanted me to marry a prince who splits Trollocs in two with one stroke of his sword. I suppose your axe will suffice, but could you tell her you are the king of the wolves? I don’t think anyone will come forward to dispute your claim to that throne. In truth, the splitting of Trollocs will probably do for Mother, but I truly think she would like the other.”

“Light!” he said hoarsely. She sounded almost serious. No, she did sound serious. If she was even half serious, he was not sure the Trollocs might not be better than meeting her parents.

“Here,” she said, holding the refilled mug of water to his lips. “You sound as though your throat is dry.” Swallowing, he spluttered at the bitter taste. She had stirred in more of Ila’s powder! He tried to stop but she filled his mouth, and it was a matter of swallow or choke. By the time he could push the mug away, she had emptied half of it into him. Why did medicine always taste so vile? He suspected women did it on purpose. He would have bet that whatever they took for themselves did not taste that way. “I told you I did not want to sleep. Gaaah!”

“Did you? I must not have heard. But whether you did or not, you need sleep.” She stroked his curly hair. “Sleep, my Perrin.”

He tried to tell her he had indeed told her so, and she had heard it, but the words seemed to tangle around his tongue. His eyes wanted to slide shut. In fact, he could not keep them open. The last thing he heard was her soft murmurs.

“Sleep, my wolf king. Sleep.”

Sleep he did. In his dreams, Faile twined her arms around his neck and nipped his beard with small white teeth, while Tinkers’ fiddles sang some wild, heated tune around the campfires. Laughing, he scooped Faile up in his arms and carried her into the shadows, where the grass was soft and they could be alone together.

When he woke up the sun was high in the sky, judging by the rays of light that slipped past the drawn curtains, but Perrin felt only slightly more rested. Those Aes Sedai Healings could really take it out of a man. He looked about but saw no sign of Faile. He should have felt more relieved by that than he did.

“Fed it to me like I was a babe,” he growled.  _ Women! _

But no sooner had he said it than his heart softened. “Faile,” he murmured wonderingly. Daughter of a lord. No, not just a lord. Three times a lord, a general, and uncle to a queen. “Light, that makes her a queen’s cousin!” And she loved a simple blacksmith. Women were wondrous strange.

He could hear a commotion outside the inn, one he was more accustomed to hearing in larger towns and cities than in a sleepy little village like Emond’s Field. Duty drove Perrin to sit up in bed and stretch his limbs. He should go and see how things were going.

As if moving had summoned her, Faile poked her head in the door. She frowned when she saw him sitting up and came the rest of the way inside the room. Perrin could see the rebuke being forged on her tongue, and spoke up quickly.

“I’m going out. What’s happened while I was asleep?”

“Nothing much,” she said.

“Faile.” He said her name as sternly as he could, and she hesitated, her most arrogant, chin-up glare changing to forehead-creasing worry and back again. He met her gaze straight on; she was not going to get away with any fine lady’s haughty tricks with him.

At last, she sighed. “I suppose you have a right to know. But you are still staying in that bed until Moiraine and I say you can get up. Loial and Gaul are gone.”

“Gone?” He blinked in confusion. “What do you mean gone? They left?”

“In a way. The sentries saw them go, this morning at first light, trotting off into the Westwood together. None of them thought anything of it; certainly none tried to stop them, an Ogier and an Aiel. They were talking about trees, Perrin. About how the Ogier sing to trees.”

“Trees?” Perrin growled. “It’s that bloody Waygate! Burn me, I told him not to ... I thought Rand was going to take care of that! Those two will get themselves killed before they reach it!”

Throwing off the blanket, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, wobbling to his feet. He had nothing on, he realized, not even his smallclothes. But if they expected to keep him caged under a blanket, they were sadly mistaken. He could see everything folded neatly on the tall-backed chair by the door, with his boots beside it and his axe hanging by its belt from a peg on the wall. Stumbling to his clothes, he began dressing as quickly as he could.

“What are you doing?” Faile demanded. “You put yourself back in that bed!” One fist on her hip, she pointed commandingly, as if her finger could transport him there. He pretended not to notice the redness in her cheeks, or the way her dark eyes flickered over his body. It served her right for drugging him and letting him be stripped like that.

“They can’t have gotten that far,” he told her. “Not afoot. Gaul won’t ride, and Loial always did claim he trusted his own feet more than any horse. I can catch them up on Stepper.” Pulling his shirt over his head, he left it hanging loose over his breeches and sat down—dropped, actually—to draw on his boots.

“You are mad, Perrin Aybara! What chance you can even find them in that forest?”

“I am not so bad at tracking, myself. I can find them.” He smiled at her, but she was not having any.

“You can get yourself killed, you hairy fool! Look at you. You can hardly stand. You would fall out of the saddle before you had gone a mile!”

Hiding the effort involved, he stood and stamped his feet to settle them in his boots. Stepper would do all the work; he only needed to hold on. “Nonsense. I’m strong as a horse. Stop trying to bully me.” Shrugging into his coat, he snatched up his axe and belt. Faile caught his arm as he opened the door, and was pulled along, vainly trying to haul him back.

“Sometimes you have the brains of a horse,” she panted. “Less! Perrin, you must listen to me. You must—”

The room lay only a few steps along the narrow hallway from the stairs leading down to the empty common room, and it was the stairs that betrayed him. When his knee bent to lower him that first step, it kept right on bending; he toppled forward, vainly trying to catch the banister, pulling a yelling Faile with him. Rolling over and over, they thumped down the stairs to come up with a final thud against the barrel at the bottom, Faile lying stretched full-length atop him. The barrel teetered and spun, rattling the swords inside, before settling with a final clank.

It took a moment for Perrin to gather enough breath to speak. “Are you all right?” he said anxiously. She was sprawled limply on his chest. He shook her gently. “Faile, are you—?”

Slowly she raised her head and brushed a few short strands of dark hair from her face, then stared at him intently. “Are you all right? Because if you are, I may very well do something violent to you.”

Perrin snorted; she was probably hurt less than he. Gingerly, he felt at where the arrow had been, but that was in no worse shape than the rest of him. Of course, the rest of him seemed bruised from head to toe. “Get off of me, Faile. I need to fetch Stepper.”

Instead, she seized his collar with both hands and leaned very close, until their noses almost touched. “Listen to me, Perrin,” she said urgently. “You—can—not—do—everything. If Loial and Gaul have gone to lock the Waygate, you must let them. Your place is here. Even if you were strong enough—and you are not! Do you hear me? You are not strong enough!—but even if you were, you must not go after them. You cannot do everything!”

“Why, whatever are you two doing?” Marin al’Vere said. Wiping her hands on her long white apron, she came from the back door of the common room. Her eyebrows looked to be trying to climb into her hair. “I expected Trollocs after all that racket, but not this.” She sounded half scandalized, and half amused.

What they looked like, Perrin realized, with Faile lying on him that way, their heads close together, was a couple playing kissing games. On the floor of the common room.

Faile’s cheeks reddened and she got up very quickly, dusting her dress. “He is as stubborn as a Trolloc, Mistress al’Vere. I told him he was too weak to rise. He must go back to his bed immediately. He has to learn he cannot do everything himself, especially when he cannot even walk down a flight of steps.”

“Oh, my dear,” Mistress al’Vere said, shaking her head, “that is quite the wrong way.” Leaning close to the younger woman, she whispered softly, but Perrin heard every word. “He was an easy little boy to manage most of the time, if you handled him properly, but when you tried to push him, he was as muley as any in the Theren. Men don’t really change that much, only grow taller. If you go telling him what he must and mustn’t do, he will surely lay his ears back and dig his heels in. Let me show you.” Marin turned a beaming smile on him, ignoring his glare. “Perrin, don’t you think one of my good goose-feather mattresses is better than that floor? I’ll bring you some of my kidney pie just as soon as we have you tucked in. You must be hungry, after no supper last night. Here. Why don’t you let me help you up?”

Pushing their hands away, he stood on his own. Well, with the aid of the wall. He thought he might have sprained half the muscles in his body. Muley? He had never been muley in his life. “Mistress al’Vere, would you have Hu or Tad saddle Stepper?”

“When you’re better,” she said, trying to turn him toward the stairs. “Don’t you think you could do with just a little more rest?” Faile took his other arm.

“Trollocs!” The cry from outside came muffled through the walls, echoed by a dozen voices. “Trollocs! Trollocs!”

“That needn’t concern you today,” Mistress al’Vere said, firm and soothing at the same time. It made him want to grit his teeth. “The Aes Sedai will handle things nicely. In a day or two we’ll have you back on your feet. You will see.”

“My horse,” he said, trying to pull free. They had good holds on his coatsleeves; all he accomplished was swinging them back and forth. “For the love of the Light, will you stop tugging at me and let me get my horse? Let go of me.”

Looking at his face, Faile sighed and released his arm. “Mistress al’Vere, will you have his horse saddled and brought around?”

“But my dear, he really needs—”

“If you please, Mistress al’Vere,” Faile said firmly. “And my horse, too.” The two women looked at each other as if he did not exist. At last Mistress al’Vere nodded.

Perrin frowned at her back as she hurried across the common room and vanished toward the kitchen, and the stable. What had Faile said different from what he had? Turning his attention to her, he said, “Why did you change your mind?”

Tucking his shirt in for him, she muttered under her breath. Doubtless he was not supposed to hear well enough to understand. “I mustn’t say must, must I? When he is too stubborn to see straight, I must lead him with honey and smiles, must I?” She shot him a glare that surely had no honey in it, then abruptly changed to a smile so sweet he very nearly backed away. “My dear heart,” she almost cooed, pulling his coat straight, “whatever is happening out there, I do hope you will stay in your saddle, and as far from Trollocs as you can. You really are not up to facing a Trolloc just yet, are you? Maybe tomorrow. Please remember you are a general, a leader, and every bit as much a symbol to your people as that banner out there. If you are up where people can see you, it will lift everyone’s heart. And it is much easier to see what needs doing and give orders if you aren’t in the fighting yourself.” Picking his belt off the floor, she buckled it around his waist, settling the axe carefully on his hip. She also batted her eyes at him! “Please say you will do that. Please?”

She was right. He would not last two minutes against a Trolloc. More like two seconds against a Fade. And much as he hated to admit it, he would not last two miles in the saddle chasing after Loial and Gaul.  _ Fool Ogier. You’re a writer, not a hero _ . “All right,” he said. A mischievous impulse seized him. The way she and Mistress al’Vere had been talking over his head, and batting her eyes as if he were a fool. “I can’t refuse you anything when you smile so prettily.”

“I am glad.” Still smiling, she brushed at his coat, picking lint he could not see. “Because if you don’t, and you manage to survive, I’ll do to you what you did to me that first day in the Ways. I don’t think you are strong enough yet to stop me.” That smile beamed up into his face, all springtime and sweetness. “Do you understand me?”

He chuckled in spite of himself. “Sounds as if I had better let them kill me.” She did not seem to think that was funny.

Hu and Tad, the lanky stablemen, led Stepper and Swallow around soon after they stepped outside. Everyone else seemed to be gathered at the far end of the village, beyond the Green, with its sheep and cows and geese, and that crimson-and-white wolfhead banner rippling on the morning breeze. As soon as he and Faile were up on their horses, the stablemen took off running that way, too, without a word.

Whatever was going on, it was clearly not an attack. He could see women and children in the crowd, and the shouts of “Trolloc” had died down to a murmur like an echo of the geese. He rode slowly, not wanting to waver in his saddle; Faile kept Swallow close, watching him. If she could change her mind once for no reason, she could again, and he did not want any arguments about whether he should be there.

The babbling crowd did appear to contain everyone in Emond’s Field, villagers and farmers alike, all jammed shoulder to shoulder, but they made way for him and Faile when they saw who he was. His name entered the murmurs, usually tagged with Goldeneyes. He picked up the word “Trollocs”, too, but in tones more wondering than frightened. From Stepper’s back he had a good view over their heads.

Rand was in red today and had left his armour behind. He still carried his sword and bow however, and his ever-present armsmen formed a steel wall that separated him from the other Thereners. Most of the other Thereners, anyway. Imoen Candwin, never a very shy girl, ignored the steel-clad and scar-faced men all around her as she chatted excitedly with Saeri and Luci. Min was saying something to Rand, and smiling as she did so, but Rand’s solemn focus was all on the distant treeline. Perrin wanted to know why Rand had let Loial and Gaul go to the Waygate alone, but that could wait for now.

Anna stood with Sara Aythes and Raine Cinclare. Judging by their faces, their talk was much more serious than that of the three girls. He studied Raine as he rode by. The feral wolfsister he’d met with Elyas had cleaned herself up, but the way she kept looking at Rand was undeniably predatory. Perrin wished he could just shrug it off as simple lust, but he was sadly familiar with how the wolves and their instincts could influence someone’s mind. Raine’s golden eyes flickered up to Perrin’s, bringing with them a jolt of kinship, before she looked away. “Shoulders,” she grunted, by way of greeting.

“Raine. You’ve come a long way from where we met. I hope you never go back.”

She grimaced, and opened her mouth as though she would say something, but then she let it fall shut again, still not meeting his eyes.

“How nice that you have a friend, Perrin,” Faile said in a tight voice. It was hard to pick up her scent with so many people gathered so close, unfortunately. He didn’t dare assume it was jealousy, despite her pinched lips.

Raine didn’t seem to care what Faile said or felt. “Don’t dream, Young Bull. Dreams are dangerous now.”

“Don’t call me that!” Perrin snapped. Raine bared her teeth at him, and a low growl rose in her throat. Perrin stamped down firmly on his instincts, before turning his horse away from them. He hadn’t needed Raine’s warning to know that the wolf dream was dangerous, not after what had happened to Hopper, but he was a little surprised to find that she knew about it. He wondered if all wolfbrothers and wolfsisters did.

The knotted mass of people stretched all the way beyond the last houses to the hedge of sharpened stakes. The edge of the forest, nearly six hundred paces off across a field of stumps nearly level with the ground, was quiet and empty of men with axes. Those men made a sweaty, bare-chested ring in the crowd surrounding Moiraine, Maigan, Alanna and two men. Jon Finngar, the miller, was wiping a smear of blood from his ribs, lantern jaw on his chest so he could stare at what his hands were doing. Alanna straightened from the other man, a grizzle-haired fellow Perrin did not know, who leaped to his feet and danced a step as if not quite believing he could. He and the miller both looked at the Aes Sedai with awe.

The tangle around the Aes Sedai was too tight for anyone to shift aside for Stepper and Swallow, but there were smaller clear pockets around the three Warders, off to either side on their warhorses. Folk did not want to come too near those fierce-eyed animals, all three looking as though they only wanted an opportunity to bite or trample.

Perrin managed to reach Lan without too much trouble. “What happened?”

“A Trolloc. Only one.” Despite the greying Warder’s conversational tone, his blue eyes did not rest on Perrin and Faile, but kept an almost equal watch on Moiraine and on the treeline. “The timbering party drove it away before it did more than draw some blood.”

From out of the trees the Aiel appeared, running, heads  _ shoufa _ -wrapped and veiled so he could not tell which was which. They slowed to snake between the sharp-pointed stakes, then slipped deftly through the crowd, people moving out of their way as much as possible in that press. Most flowed towards Rand, but two split off and headed their way. Bain and Chiad, Perrin knew. They skirted around the gathering of Aes Sedai. The Aiel usually avoided them, not because they were afraid exactly, just wary for reasons that, bizarrely, didn’t include the likelihood of Aes Sedai killing them with the One Power. One day Perrin hoped to figure out what it was Aiel really felt toward Aes Sedai. One day. By the time they reached Faile, the Maidens had unveiled, and she leaned down to listen to their report.

“Perhaps five hundred Trollocs,” Bain told her, “probably no more than a mile or two behind us.” Her voice was level, but her dark blue eyes sparkled with eagerness. So did Chiad’s grey.

“As I expected,” Ihvon said calmly. “That one likely wandered off from the larger body hoping to find a meal. The rest will be coming soon, I think.” The Maidens nodded.

Perrin gestured in consternation at the jam of people. “They shouldn’t be out here, then. Why haven’t you cleared them away?”

“Your people do not seem to want to listen to outsiders, not when they can watch Aes Sedai,” Ihvon answered. “I would suggest you see what you can do.”

Perrin was sure they could have imposed some sort of order had they really tried. Moiraine and the other two Aes Sedai surely could have.  _ So why did they wait and leave it to me, if they expected Trollocs? _ It would have been easy to put it down to  _ ta’veren _ —easy, and foolish. Lan and Ihvon were not going to let Trollocs kill them—or Moiraine, or Alanna—while waiting for a  _ ta’veren _ to tell them what to do. The Aes Sedai were manoeuvring him, risking everyone, maybe even themselves. But to what possible end? He met Faile’s eyes, and she nodded slightly, as if she knew what he was thinking.

He was aware of Moiraine watching him from afar with her dark, knowing eyes. She was all cool poise. He wondered whether she cared how many Theren folk died, so long as he lived, to be used in the White Tower’s plans for Rand. Perrin did not trust as many people as he once had. Not Aes Sedai. And maybe not even Lan. But maybe these Aes Sedai would help him fight Trollocs. He would trust anyone who did that. But how far could he rely on Aes Sedai? They did what they did for their own reasons; the Theren was home, to him, but to them it might be a stone on a stone’s board.

He had no time to try figuring it out now. Scanning the crowd, he spotted Bran al’Caar, putting his head together with Tam al’Thor and Abell Candwin. The Mayor’s husband had a long spear on his shoulder and a dented old round steel cap on his head. A leather jerkin sewn all over with steel discs strained around his bulk.

All three men looked up when Perrin pushed Stepper through the crowd to them. “Bain says Trollocs are heading this way, and the Warders think we may be attacked soon.” He had to shout because of the incessant drone of voices. Some of the nearer folk heard and fell silent; quiet spread on ripples of “Trolloc” and “attack”.

Bran blinked. “Yes. It had to come, didn’t it? Yes, well, we know what to do.” He should have looked comic, with his jerkin ready to pop its seams and his steel cap wobbling when he nodded, but he only looked determined. Raising his voice, he announced, “Perrin says the Trollocs will be here soon. You all know your places. Hurry, now. Hurry.”

The crowd stirred and flowed, women herding children back toward the houses, men milling every which way. Confusion seemed to grow more rather than less.

“I’ll see to getting the shepherds in,” Abell told Perrin, and dove into the throng.

Cenn Buie pushed past in the moil, using a halberd to herd sour-faced Hari Coplin and Hari’s brother Darl and old Bili Congar, who staggered as if already full of ale this morning, which he probably was. Of the three, Bili carried his spear most as if he meant to use it. Cenn touched his forehead to Perrin in a sort of salute. A number of the men did. It made him uncomfortable. Dannil and the other lads were one thing, but these men were half again his age and more.

“You are doing fine,” Faile said.

“I wish I knew what Moiraine and the other two were up to,” he muttered. “And I don’t mean right now.” Two of the catapults the Shienarans had had built stood at this end of the village, squarish things taller than a man, all heavy timbers and thick, twisted ropes. From their horses, Ihvon and Ho were overseeing the stout wooden beams being winched down. Their Aes Sedai were more interested in the big fieldstones, fifteen or twenty pounds each, being loaded in cups on the end of those arms. Moiraine stood in a little pocket of stillness among the milling crowed, watching Perrin, her face showing nothing of her thoughts.

“They mean you to be a leader,” Faile replied quietly. “It is what you were born for, I think.” Perrin snorted. He had been born to be a blacksmith. “I’d be a lot more comfortable if I knew why they wanted it.” The other Aes Sedai were looking at him now, too, Maigan with a slightly curled lip, Alanna with a franker stare and a small smile. Did they all want the same thing, and for the same reason? That was one of the troubles with Aes Sedai. There were always more questions than answers.

Order asserted itself with surprising quickness. Along this west end of the village a hundred men knelt on one knee right behind the bristle of stakes, uneasily fingering spears or halberds or some polearm made from a bush hook or scythe. Here and there one wore a helmet or some bit of armour. To their rear, twice as many formed two lines holding good Theren longbows, each with a pair of quivers at his belt. Young boys came running from the houses with bundles of more arrows that the men drove point-down in the ground in front of their feet. Tam seemed to be in charge, dressing the ranks and speaking a few words to each man, but Bran marched along with him, offering his own encouragement. Uno’s Shienarans were mounted now, and had their long lances in hand. Their warhorses stamped the ground eagerly. Urien’s Aiel had taken their place around Rand, who was rubbing a hand up and down the long hilt of his sword with barely less eagerness than the warhorses’ stamping. Anna and Sara joined the male archers, stoutly ignoring those few who looked askance at them; most of the men just seemed happy to have another bow on hand. Perrin could not see that they needed him at all.

To his surprise, Dannil and Ban and all the other lads who had ridden with him came trotting out of the village to surround him and Faile, all with their bows. They looked odd, in a way. The Aes Sedai had apparently Healed the more seriously injured, leaving those less hurt for Daisy’s poultices and ointments, so fellows who had been barely clinging to a saddle yesterday walked along spritely now, while Dannil and Tell and others still limped or wore bandages. If he was surprised to see them, he was disgusted by what they brought. Leof Torfinn, the dressing wrapped around his head making a pale cap above his deep-set eyes, had his bow slung on his back and carried a tall staff with a smaller version of the red-bordered banner with its wolfhead.

“I think one of the Aes Sedai had it made,” Leof said when Perrin asked where it came from. “Milli Ayellin brought it to Wil’s da, but Wil didn’t want to carry it.” Wil al’Seen hunched his shoulders a bit.

“I wouldn’t want to carry it, either,” Perrin said dryly. They all laughed as if he had made a joke, even Wil, after a moment.

The hedge of stakes looked fierce enough, but on the other hand, it seemed a pitiful thing to keep Trollocs out. Maybe it would, but he did not want Faile there if they made it through. When he looked at her, though, she had that look in her eyes again as if she knew what he was thinking. And did not like it. If he tried to send her back, she would argue and balk, refusing to see sense. Weak as he felt right then, she probably had a better chance of leading him back to the inn than he her. The way she was sitting her saddle so ferociously, she likely intended to defend him, if the Trollocs broke through. He would just have to keep a close eye on her; that was all there was to it.

Suddenly she smiled, and he scratched his beard. Maybe she  _ could _ read his mind.

Time passed, the sun inching along the sky. Now and then a woman called from the houses to ask what was happening. Here and there men sat down, but Tam or Bran was on them before they had their legs folded, chivvying them back into line. No more than a mile or two, Bain had said. She and Chiad were sitting near the stakes, playing some game that apparently involved flipping a knife into the foot of ground between them. Surely if the Trollocs were coming, they would have come by now. He was beginning to find it hard to sit up straight. Conscious of Faile’s watchful eyes, he kept his back stiff.

A horn blared, brazen and shrill.

“Trollocs!” half a dozen voices shouted, and bestial, black-mailed shapes flooded out of the Westwood, howling as they ran across the stumpy ground, waving scythe-curved swords and spiked axes, spears and tridents. Three Myrddraal rode behind them on black horses, darting back and forth as though driving the Trolloc charge before them. Their dead black cloaks hung motionless no matter how their mounts dashed or whirled. The horn sounded continuously in sharp, urging cries.

Twenty arrows leaped out as soon as the first Trolloc appeared, the strongest shot falling nearly a hundred paces short.

“Hold, you lack-witted mules!” Tam shouted. Bran jumped and gave him a startled look, no less incredulous than those coming from Tam’s friends and neighbours; some muttered about not standing still for that kind of talk, Trollocs or no Trollocs. Tam rode right over their protests, though. “You hold till I give the word, the way I showed you!” Then, as if hundreds of shrieking Trollocs were not galloping toward him, Tam turned calmly to Perrin. “At three hundred paces?”

Perrin nodded quickly. The man was asking him? Three hundred paces. How quickly could a Trolloc cover three hundred paces? He eased his axe in its loop. That horn wailed and wailed. The spearmen crouched behind the stakes as if forcing themselves not to edge back. The Aiel had veiled their faces. The Shienarans and the Warders sat their horses calmly.

Onward the screaming tide came, all horned heads and faces with snouts or beaks, each half again as tall as a man, each shrieking for blood. Five hundred paces. Four hundred. Some were stretching out in front. They ran as fast as horses. Had the Aiel been right? Could there be only five hundred? It looked like thousands.

“Ready!” Tam called, and two hundred bows were raised. The young men with Perrin hurriedly formed up in front of him in imitation of their elders, ranking themselves with that fool banner.

Three hundred paces. Perrin could see those misshapen faces, contorted with rage and frenzy, as clearly as if they were right on top of him.

“Loose!” Tam shouted. Bowstrings slapped like one huge whip-crack. With twin crashes of beam against leather-padded beam, the catapults fired.

Broadhead arrows rained down into the Trollocs. Monstrous shapes fell, but some rose and staggered on, harried by the Fades. That horn wove into their guttural bellowing, sounding forward for the kill. The catapults’ stones fell among them—and exploded in fire and shards, ripping open holes in the mass. Perrin was not the only one to jump; so that was what the Aes Sedai had been doing with the catapults. He wondered wildly what would happen if they dropped one of those stones loading it into the cup.

Another flight of arrows leaped out, and another, another, and again and again, and more stones from the catapults, if at a slower pace. Fiery explosions tore at the Trollocs. Broadhead points hailed down on them. And they came on, shrieking, howling, falling and dying, but always running forward. They were close now, close enough that the bowmen spread out, no longer firing in flights but choosing their targets. Men screamed their own rage, screamed in the face of death as they shot.

And then there were no more Trollocs standing. Only one Fade, bristling with arrows yet still staggering blindly. The shrill shrieks of a Myrddraal’s thrashing horse competed with the moaning bellows of downed and dying Trollocs. The horn had fallen silent at last. Here and there across the stump-filled field, a Trolloc heaved and fell back. Under it all, Perrin could hear men panting as if they had run ten miles. His own heart seemed to be pounding out of his chest.

Suddenly someone raised a loud huzzah, and with that men began capering and shouting euphorically, waving bows or whatever they had over their heads, tossing caps in the air. Women rushed out from the houses, laughing and cheering, and children, all celebrating and dancing with the men. Some came running to grab Perrin’s hand and shake it.

“You’ve led us to a great victory, my boy.” Bran laughed up at him. He had his steel cap perched on the back of his head. “I suppose I shouldn’t call you that, now. A great victory, Perrin.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he protested. “I just sat on my horse. You did it.” Bran listened no more than any of the others. Embarrassed, Perrin sat up straight, pretending to survey the field, and after a while they left him alone.

Tam had not joined in the celebrating; he stood close behind the stakes, studying the Trollocs. The Warders were not laughing, either. Black-mailed shapes littered the field among the low stumps. There could be five hundred of them. Maybe less. Some, a few, might have made it back to the trees. None lay closer than fifty paces from the pointed hedge. Perrin found the other two Fades, writhing on the ground. That accounted for all three. They would admit they were dead eventually.

The Theren folk raised a thunderous cheer, for him. “Perrin Goldeneyes! Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!”

“They had to know,” he muttered. Faile looked at him questioningly. “The Halfmen had to know this wouldn’t work. Look out there. Even I can see it, now; they must have from the start. If this was all they had, why did they try? And if there are more Trollocs out there, why didn’t they all come? Twice as many, and we’d have had to fight them at the stakes. Twice that, and they might have broken through to the village.”

“You’ve a good natural eye, blacksmith,” Lan said, reining in beside them. “This was a test. To see if you would break at the sight of a charge, perhaps to see how quickly you could react, or how your defences are organized, or maybe something I’ve not thought of, but still a test. Now they see.” He pointed to the sky, where a lone raven winged over the field. A natural raven would have alighted to feast among the dead. The bird completed a last circle and peeled off toward the forest. “The next attack will not come right away. I saw two or three Trollocs reach the forest, so word of this will spread. The Halfmen will have to make them remember they’re more afraid of Myrddraal than of dying. That attack will come, however, and it will certainly be stronger than this. How strong depends on how many the Faceless have brought through the Ways.”

Perrin grimaced. “Light! What if there are ten thousand of them?”

“Not likely,” Moiraine said, walking up to pat Mandarb on the neck. The warhorse allowed her touch as meekly as a pony. “At least, not yet. Not even a Forsaken could move a large party through the Ways safely, I think. One man alone risks death or madness between the closest Waygates, but a thousand men, or a thousand Trollocs, would very likely draw  _ Machin Shin _ within minutes, a monstrous wasp to a bowl of honey. Recall how few they had here last year, and how their numbers grew with time. It is much more probable that they travel no more than fifty at a time, and the groups spaced out. Of course, the questions remain of how many groups they are bringing, and how much time they allow to elapse between.”

“If you ride even one step near the Westwood,” Faile said calmly, “I will haul you back to the inn by your ear and stuff you into that bed myself.”

“I wasn’t thinking of it,” Perrin lied, turning Stepper so his back was to the woods. One man and an Ogier might escape notice, make it to the mountains safely. They might. The Waygate had to be locked permanently if Emond’s Field was to have any chance. “You talked me out of it, remember?” Another man might find them, knowing they were there. Three sets of eyes could keep sharper watch than two, especially when one set was his, and he was certainly not doing anything here. His clothes stuffed with straw and set on Stepper could do as much.

Suddenly, above the shouting and carrying on around him, he heard sharper shouts, a clamour from the south, near the Old Road.

“He said they wouldn’t come again soon!” he growled, and dug his heels into Stepper’s flanks.


	61. The Tinker's Sword

CHAPTER 58: The Tinker’s Sword

Galloping through the village with Faile at his heels, Perrin found the men on the south side in a cluster, peering out over the cleared fields and muttering, some with bows half-drawn. Two wagons blocked the gap the Old Road made in the sharp stakes. The nearest low stone fence still standing bordering a field of tabac, lay five hundred paces off, with nothing between taller than barley stubble; the ground short of it sprouted arrows like weeds. Smoke curled up in the far distance, a dozen or more thick black plumes, some wide enough to be fields burning.

Cenn Buie was there, and Hari and Darl Coplin. Bili Congar had an arm around the shoulders of his cousin Wit, Daisy’s bony husband, who looked as if he wished Bili would not breathe on him. None smelled of fear, only excitement. And Bili of ale. At least ten men at once tried to tell him what had happened; some were louder than others.

“The Trollocs tried us here, as well,” Hari Coplin shouted, “but we showed them, didn’t we?” There were murmurs of agreement, but just as many or more eyed each other doubtfully and shifted their feet.

“We’ve some heroes here, too,” Darl said in a loud, rough voice. “Your lot up at the wood aren’t the only ones.” A bigger man than his brother, he had that same weasel-narrow Coplin face, the same tight mouth as if he had just bitten a green persimmon. When he thought Perrin was not looking, he shot him a spiteful look. It did not necessarily mean he really wished he had been up facing the Westwood; Darl and Hari and most of their relatives usually found a way to see themselves being cheated, whatever the situation.

“This calls for a drink!” old Bili announced, then scowled in disappointment when no-one echoed him.

A head lifted above the distant wall and hurriedly ducked back down, but not before Perrin saw a brilliant yellow coat. “Not Trollocs,” he growled disgustedly. “Tinkers! You were shooting at  _ Tuatha’an _ . Get those wagons out of the way.” Standing in his stirrups, he cupped hands to his mouth. “You can come on!” he shouted. “It is all right! No-one will hurt you! I said move those wagons,” he snapped at the men standing around staring at him. Taking Tinkers for Trollocs! “And go fetch your arrows; you’ll have real need for them sooner or later.” Slowly some moved to obey, and he shouted again, “No-one will harm you! It is alright! Come on!” The wagons rolled to either side with the creak of axles that needed grease.

A few brightly garbed  _ Tuatha’an _ climbed over the fence, then a few more, and started toward the village in a hesitant, footsore half-run, seeming almost as afraid of what lay ahead as whatever lay behind. They huddled together at the sight of men dashing out from the village, balancing on the edge of turning back even when the Theren folk trotted by, looking at them curiously, to begin pulling arrows out of the dirt. Yet they did stumble on.

Perrin’s insides turned to ice. Twenty men and women, perhaps, some carrying small children, and a handful of older children running, too, their dazzling colours all torn and stained with dirt. And some with blood, he saw as they came closer. That was all. Out of how many in the caravan? There was Raen, at least, shuffling as though half-dazed and being guided by Ila, one side of her face a dark, swollen bruise. At least they had survived.

Short of the opening, the  _ Tuatha’an _ stopped, staring uncertainly at the sharp stakes and the mass of armed men. Some of the children clutched their elders and hid their faces. They smelled of fear, of terror. Faile jumped down and ran to them, but though Ila hugged her, she did not take another step nearer. The older woman seemed to be drawing comfort from the younger.

“We won’t hurt you,” Perrin said.  _ I should have made them come. The Light burn me, I should have made them! _ “You are welcome to our fires.”

Rand and Anna had followed Perrin on foot, trailed by Raine, and by Rand’s Aiel ... not-quite-guards. The Aiel took one look at the  _ Tuatha’an _ and stopped dead in their tracks, not bothering to follow Rand even when he rushed past Perrin and the archers, his long legs carrying him towards a short, dark-haired Tinker girl who was blinking slowly at all around her. The girl stared at Rand as though she didn’t recognise him at first, but then she shook the cobwebs from her head and sudden tears welled in her eyes. She fell into his arms and her shoulders shook with silent sobs. Anna and Raine stopped not far from Perrin, and the wolfsister began hopping from foot to foot as she watched the scene unfolding. Perrin might have thought her jealous, if he hadn’t been able to smell her.

“Small wonder that one would go for a Tinker girl,” Bili muttered sourly.

Perrin wasn’t sure what he meant at first, but Hari soon cleared it up for him. “Better than him sniffing after good Theren women. Bloody Aiel half-breed. Or full breed maybe. Who’s to say he’s even Tam’s?” The Coplins and Congars nodded at his words, and they weren’t the only ones either.

A growl built in Perrin’s chest, but Anna spoke before he could form the words to sit Hari down. “Tam is! Who else has a say in the al’Thor family’s business, Hari Coplin? Certainly not you.” The scorn she imbued that last word with made it almost a slap. Judging by the look on her face, Anna would have been more than willing to add an actual slap to the verbal one.

No Theren man wanted to get into an actual fight with a woman, not even a Coplin man. An argument sure, but actually throwing hands? It was unthinkable. Hari shot Anna a single, sour look, but then he took a keen interest in the strangers gathered before them. He made a good show of pretending the stocky little woman wasn’t standing there with her fists balled, ready and eager to thump him bloody.

“Tinkers.” Hari’s mouth twisted scornfully. “What do we want with a bunch of thieving Tinkers? Take everything that isn’t nailed down.”

Darl open his mouth, to support Hari no doubt, but before he could speak someone in the crowd shouted, “So do you, Hari! And you’ll take the nails, too!” Sparse laughter snapped Darl’s jaws shut. Not many laughed, though, and those that did eyed the bedraggled  _ Tuatha’an _ and looked down in discomfort.

“Hari is right!” Daisy Congar called, bulling through, pushing men out of her path. “Tinkers steal, and not just things! They steal children!” Shoving her way to Cenn Buie, she shook a finger as thick as Cenn’s thumb under his nose. He backed away as much as he could in the press; she overtopped him by a head and outweighed him by half. “You are supposed to be on the Village Council, but if you don’t want to listen to the Wisdom, I’ll bring the Women’s Circle into this, and we will take care of it.” Some of the men nodded, muttering.

Cenn scratched his thinning hair, eyeing the Wisdom sideways. “Aaah ... well ... Perrin,” he said slowly in that scratchy voice, “the Tinkers do have a reputation, you know, and—” He cut off, jumping back as Perrin whirled Stepper to face the Theren folk.

A good many scattered before the dun, but Perrin did not care. “We’ll not turn anyone away,” he said in a tight voice. “No-one! Or do you mean to send children off for the Trollocs?” One of the  _ Tuatha’an _ children began to cry, a sharp wailing, and he wished he had not said that, but Cenn’s face went red as a beet, and even Daisy looked abashed.

“Of course we’ll take them in,” the thatcher said gruffly. He rounded on Daisy, all puffed up like a banty rooster ready to fight a mastiff. “And if you want to bring the Women’s Circle into it, the Village Council will sit the whole lot of you down sharp! You see if we don’t!”

“You always were an old fool, Cenn Buie,” Daisy snorted. “Do you think we’d let you send children back out there for Trollocs?” Cenn’s jaw worked furiously, but before he could get a word out Daisy put a hand on his narrow chest and thrust him aside. Donning a smile, she strode out to the  _ Tuatha’an _ . Daisy spared a moment to purse her lips and sniff at Rand and his girl as she strode past, but soon she was putting a comforting arm around Ila. “You just come along with me, and I’ll see you all get hot baths and somewhere to rest. Every house is crowded, but we’ll find places for everyone. Come.”

Marin al’Vere came hurrying through the crowd, and Alsbet Luhhan, Natti Cauthon, Jina Lewin, Neysa Ayellin and more women, taking up children or putting arms around  _ Tuatha’an _ women, urging them along, scolding the Theren men to make way. Not that anybody was balking, now; it just took a little time for so many to jostle back and open a path.

Faile gave Perrin an admiring look, but he shook his head. This was not  _ ta’veren _ work; Theren people might need the right way pointed out to them sometimes, but they could see it when it was. Even Hari Coplin, watching the Tinkers brought in, did not look as sour as he had. Well, not quite as sour. There was no use expecting miracles.

As she led a bedraggled Tinker woman into the village, Jina Lewin caught sight of Raine’s eyes and gave a sudden start. “Another beast-person,” she whispered, so low he was sure she didn’t mean for anyone to hear. But Perrin heard, and so did Raine. He took it stolidly, but Raine hunched her shoulders and squeezed her yellow eyes shut, as though to hide them from the world. Perrin took a firm hold on his desire to tell Mistress Lewin off. He had no right, for one thing, and for another, who was to say she was wrong about them?

Shambling by, Raen looked up at Perrin dully. “The Way of the Leaf is the right way. All things die in their appointed time, and ...” He trailed off as if he could not remember what he had been going to say.

“They came last night,” Ila said, mumbling because of her swollen face. Her eyes were almost as glazed as her husband’s. “The dogs might have helped us escape, but the Children killed all the dogs, and ... There was nothing we could do.” Behind her, Aram shivered in his yellow-striped coat, staring at all the armed men. Most of the Tinker children were crying now.

Perrin frowned at the smoke rising to the south. Twisting in his saddle, he could make out more to the north and east. Even if most of those represented houses already abandoned, the Trollocs had had a busy night. How many would it take to fire that many farms, even running between and taking no more time than needed to toss a torch into an empty house or unwatched field? Maybe as many as they had killed today. What did that say about Trolloc numbers already in the Theren? It did not seem possible one band had done it all, burning all those houses and destroying the Travelling People’s caravan, too.

Eyes falling on the  _ Tuatha’an _ being led away, he felt a stab of embarrassment. They had seen kith and kin killed last night, and here he was coldly considering numbers. He could hear some of the Theren men muttering, trying to decide which smoke represented whose farm. To all of these people those fires meant real losses, lives to be rebuilt if they could, not just numbers. He was useless here. Now, while Faile was caught up in helping see to the Tinkers, was the time for him to be off after Loial and Gaul. Why wasn’t Rand going? Perrin wanted to ask him, but didn’t want to interrupt him just then. He had his arm across the shoulders of the pretty little Tinker as he brought her into their home, and was leaning down to whisper reassurances to her.

Perrin hadn’t noticed Min at first, among the throng of women that showed up with Mistress al’Vere, but she stood out, in part because of her boy’s garb, and in part because she wasn’t busy comforting the soot-stained Tinkers. Instead, Min stood alone, staring at Rand and the Tinker girl he was embracing. He didn’t think he would have needed his enhanced senses to be able to hear her heavy sigh.  _ She should just tell him how she feels _ .

Master Weyland, in his blacksmith’s vest and long leather apron, caught Stepper’s bridle. “Perrin you have to help me. The Warders want me to make parts for more of those catapults, but I’ve twenty men clamouring for me to repair bits of armour their grandfathers’ fool grandfathers bought from some fool merchants’ guards.”

“I would like to give you a hand,” Perrin said, “but I have something else that needs doing. I’d likely be rusty, anyway. I haven’t had much work at a forge the last year.”

“Light, I didn’t mean that. Not for you to work a hammer.” The blacksmith sounded shocked. “Every time I send one of those goose-brains off with a bee in his ear, he’s back ten minutes later with a new argument. I cannot get any work done. They’ll listen to you.”

Perrin doubted it, not if they would not listen to Master Weyland. Aside from being on the Village Council, Haral Weyland was big enough to pick up nearly any man in the Theren and toss him out bodily if need be. But he went along to the makeshift forge Master Weyland had set up beneath a hastily built, open-sided shed near the Green. Six men clustered around the anvils salvaged from the smithy the Whitecloaks had burned, and another idly pumping the big leather bellows until the blacksmith chased him away from the long handles with a shout. To Perrin’s surprise they did listen when he told them to go, with no speech to bend them ’round a  _ ta’veren _ ’s will, just a plain statement that Master Weyland was busy. Surely the blacksmith could have done as much himself, but he shook Perrin’s hand and thanked him profusely before setting to work.

Bending down from Stepper’s saddle, Perrin caught one of the men by the shoulder, a bald-headed farmer named Get Finngar, and asked him to stay and warn off anyone else who tried to bother Master Weyland. Get must have been three times his age, and his grandson, Hu Eldin, had been among those Perrin had gotten killed in the Waterwood, but the leathery, wrinkle-faced man just nodded and took up a station near where Haral had his hammer ringing on hot iron. Now he could be off, before Faile turned up.

Before he could as much as turn Stepper, Bran appeared, spear on his shoulder and steel cap under one stout arm. “Perrin, there has to be a faster way to bring the shepherds and herdsmen in if we’re attacked again. Even sending the fastest runners in the village, Abell couldn’t get half of them back here before those Trollocs came out of the wood.”

That was easy to solve, a matter of remembering an old bugle, tarnished nearly black, that Cenn Buie had hanging on his wall, and settling on a signal of three long blasts that the farthest shepherd could hear. It did bring up signals for other things, of course, such as sending everyone to their places if an attack was expected. Which led to how to know when an attack was expected. Bain and Chiad and the Warders turned out to be more than amenable to scouting, but five were hardly enough, so good woodsmen and trackers had to be found, and provided with horses so they could reach Emond’s Field ahead of any Trollocs they spotted.

After that, Buel Dowtry had to be settled down. The white-haired old fletcher, with a nose nearly as sharp as a broadhead point, knew very well that most farmers usually made their own arrows, but he was adamantly opposed to anyone helping him here in the village, as if he could keep every quiver filled by himself. Perrin was not sure how he smoothed Buel’s ruffled temper, but somehow he left the man happily teaching a knot of boys to tie and glue goose-feather fletchings.

Eward Cauthon, the stout cooper, had a different problem. With so many folks needing water, he had more buckets and barrels to make than he could hoop in weeks, alone. It did not take long to find him hands he trusted to chamfer staves at least, but more people came with questions and problems they seemed to think only Perrin had the answers for, from where to burn the bodies of the dead Trollocs to whether it was safe to return to their farms to save what they could. That last he answered with a firm no whenever it was asked—and it was asked more often than any other, by men and women frowning at the smoke rising in the countryside—but most of the time he simply inquired what the questioner thought was a good solution and told him to do that. It was seldom he really had to come up with an answer; people knew what to do, they just had this fool notion they had to ask him.

Dannil and Ban and the others found him and insisted on riding about at his heels with that banner, as if the big one over the Green was not bad enough, until he sent them off to guard the men who had gone back to felling trees along the Westwood. It seemed that Tam had told them some tale about something called the Companions, in Illian, soldiers who rode with the general of an Illianer army and were thrown in wherever the battle was hottest. Tam, of all people! At least they took the banner with them. Perrin felt a right fool with that thing trailing after him.

In the middle of the morning, Luc rode in, all golden-haired arrogance, nodding slightly to acknowledge a few cheers, though why anyone wanted to cheer him seemed a mystery. He brought a trophy that he pulled out of a leather bag and had set on a spear at the edge of the Green for everyone to gawk at. A Myrddraal’s eyeless head. The fellow was modest enough, in a condescending sort of way, but he did let slip that he had killed the Fade when he ran into a band of Trollocs. Hurin watched and listened silently, but he was soon scratching his head and frowning over something only he could smell. Perrin saw him wander off towards the inn, where Rand had taken his Tinker girl, and had a sudden desire to compare impressions of Luc with the sniffer. An admiring train took Luc around to see the scene of the battle here—they were calling it that—where horses were dragging Trollocs off to great pyres already sending up pillars of oily black smoke. Luc was properly admiring in turn, making only one or two criticisms of how Perrin had disposed his men; that was how the Theren folk told it, with Perrin lining everybody up and giving orders he certainly never had.

To Perrin, Luc gave a patronizing smile of approval. “You did very well, my boy. You were lucky, of course, but there is such a thing as the luck of the beginner, is there not.”

When he went off to his room in the Winespring Inn, Perrin had the head taken down and buried. Not a thing people should be staring at, especially the children.

The questions continued as the day wore on, until he suddenly realized he had had nothing to eat, and his stomach was talking to him in no uncertain terms. “Mistress al’Caar,” he said wearily to the long-faced woman at his stirrup, “I suppose the children can play anywhere, so long as somebody watches to make sure they don’t go beyond the last houses. Light, woman, you know that. You certainly know children better than I do! If you don’t, how have you managed to raise four of your own?” Her youngest was six years older than he was!

Nela al’Caar frowned and tossed her head, grey-streaked braid swinging. For a moment he thought she was going to snap his nose off, talking that way to her. He almost wished she would, for a change from everybody wanting to know what he thought should be done. “Of course I know children,” she said. “I just want to make sure it’s done the way you want. That’s what we’ll do, then.” Sighing, he only waited for her to turn away before reining Stepper around toward the Winespring Inn. Two or three voices called to him, but he refused to listen. What he wanted done. What was wrong with these people? Theren folk did not follow this way. Certainly not Emond’s Fielders. They wanted a say in everything. Arguments in front of the Village Council, arguments among the Council, had to come to blows before they occasioned comment. And if the Women’s Circle thought they kept their own affairs more circumspect, there was not a man who did not know the meaning of tight-jawed women stalking about with their braids all but bristling like angry cats’ tails.

_ What I want? _ he thought angrily.  _ What I want is something to eat, someplace where no-one is jabbering in my ear _ . Stepping down in front of the inn, he staggered, and thought he could add a bed to that short list. Only midday, with Stepper doing all the work, and he already felt bone-weary. Maybe Faile had been right after all. Maybe going after Loial and Gaul really was a bad idea.

When he walked into the common room, Mistress al’Vere took one look at him and all but pushed him into a chair with a motherly smile. “You can just give over handing out orders for a while,” she told him firmly. “Emond’s Field can very well survive an hour by itself while you put some food inside you.” She bustled away before he could say Emond’s Field could very well survive by itself without him at all.

The room was fairly packed. Rand was surrounded by girls, including Raine, who had stopped lurking in his shadow long enough to hug the morose Tinker Perrin had seen before. His maids hovered nearby, with Imoen for company, and Min sat beside him at the table with a glum look on her face. Perrin was half-surprised that Anna wasn’t there fawning over him, too. A thoughtful Hurin sat alone.

Natti Cauthon was at another table, rolling bandages and adding them to the pile in front of her, but she also managed to keep an eye on her daughters, across the room, though both were old enough to be wearing their hair in a braid. The reason was plain enough. Bode and Eldrin sat on either side of Aram, coaxing the Tinker to eat. Feeding him, actually, and wiping his chin, too. From the way they were grinning at the fellow, Perrin was surprised Natti was not at the table with them, braids or no. The fellow was good-looking, he supposed; maybe handsomer than Wil al’Seen. Bode and Eldrin certainly seemed to think so, for all that Bode kept glancing Rand’s way every time she fed Aram a new spoonful; something which Rand completely failed to react to. For his part, Aram smiled back occasionally—they were plumply pretty girls; he would have to be blind not to see it, and Perrin did not think Aram was ever blind to a pretty girl—but he hardly swallowed without running a wide-eyed gaze over the spears and polearms against the walls. For a  _ Tuatha’an _ , it had to be a horrible sight.

Perrin put his hand on the back of Rand’s chair and leaned down between him and Min. He made sure to keep his voice low when he spoke. “I thought you were going to take care of the Waygate.”

“I was. But by the time I woke up, Loial and Gaul were already gone. And Moiraine convinced me that it would be too predictable for me to ride out into the woods. The Trollocs would surely have an ambush waiting.” Rand interlaced his fingers. “I can’t afford to be predictable. I have to do what they least expect.”

“Even if it means leaving the Theren to the Trollocs?” Perrin demanded disgustedly.

“He’s here, isn’t he?” a scowling Min pointed out before Rand could respond.

“Stealth may do what a column of heavy cavalry could not,” Rand added in a tight voice. “If worst come to worst, if ... if Loial doesn’t make it, I’ll ask Urien to go.”

“While you sit here surrounded by pretty girls.” Perrin was unable to hide his disappointment.

It was plain from the whiteness of his knuckles and the bunching of his jaw that Rand was having a hard time containing his temper, but contain it he did. “Elayne once told me that delegation was one of the most important parts of being a leader. I’ll keep an eye on how much work you do around town in the next few days, ‘Lord Goldeneyes’,” he said tightly.

Recalling how useless he’d felt, wandering around on Stepper’s back telling people to do what they already knew to do, Perrin grimaced. “Where’s Luc? Did he have anything to say for himself?”

Still angry, Rand tossed his head. “A bunch of empty flattery and false smiles. I don’t trust that man. Hurin thinks there’s something wrong with him. Min too.”

But Min shook her head in denial when Perrin looked to her. “I just said the viewing made no sense, Rand. That doesn’t really mean anything. Most of my viewings make no sense. If I used that to judge someone, I’d have to run a mile every time you or Perrin walked into a room.”

“Maybe you should,” Rand sighed. He didn’t react when Min punched him lightly on the shoulder in response. “A mirror with no reflection. I could mean he’s hiding something.”

“Stop,” Min said firmly. “Trying to guess the meaning is useless. Worse than useless, if it turns out to be something else entirely and you’ve spent all month trying to stop something that wasn’t even going to happen; and something that you couldn’t have stopped even if it  _ had _ been going to happen. Honestly, I’m not sure why I even bother telling you about these viewings of mine. They’re utterly useless.”

Rand patted Min’s hand absently. “They’re not useless. They’re like a sentry’s call. Doesn’t stop the attack, but let’s everyone else prepare for it.”

Min blinked at that, and squirmed a little in her seat. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it. I never thought of them like that,” she said slowly.

“What did Hurin have to say about him? Luc, I mean,” Perrin asked, before they could steer the conversation away from what mattered.

Rand glanced over to where the sniffer was sitting, nursing a cup of wine; Hurin was frowning so deeply that the furrows on his brow became canyons. “He said that Luc was lying about the Myrddraal he brought in. He didn’t kill it at all. I suppose that could just mean he’s a bag of hot air, claiming credit for other people’s kills. Or ...”

“Or what?”

“Exactly.”

Perrin grunted. “The Aiel haven’t had anything to add? He looks a bit like you, you know.”

Rand threw up his hands and scowled at Perrin. “Could you maybe not say that about every red-haired person we meet? It’s a little annoying. I seriously doubt I’m related to Luc. Or Raine, before you ask.”

“Fine, fine,” he said appeasingly. Raine raised her head from the Tinker girl’s shoulder at the sound of her name and looked their way curiously.

Perrin lowered his voice before continuing. “Is your girl alright?” She’d washed up since coming to the Winespring, but fresh tear tracks could be seen on her cheeks. Now that he got a closer look at her, he noticed that she had a very pretty pair of large, green eyes.  _ I’d better not let Faile see me near this one _ .

“Merile? No, not at all,” Rand whispered. “Her brother was among those killed by the Trollocs. And there’s something else, something she doesn’t want to talk about.”

“Whatever it is, neither of you should pester her about it,” Min added, in a whisper of her own.

“I know that. I’m not completely insensitive.”

Min had the biggest, darkest, most expressive eyes you were ever likely to see. She managed to mix incredulity, challenge and exasperation all together in the look she gave Rand in response to that claim.  _ Not my business _ , Perrin told himself firmly. He stood up and left them to it.

He hadn’t made it halfway across the common room before Faile appeared, popping in through the door to the kitchen. “Mistress al’Vere said you had finally gotten tired of your saddle,” she said by way of greeting. Startlingly, she wore a long white apron like Marin’s; her sleeves were pushed up above her elbows, and she had flour on her hands. As if just realizing it, she whipped the apron off, wiping her hands hastily, and laid it across the back of a chair. “I have never baked anything before,” she said, shoving her sleeves down as she joined him. “It is rather fun kneading dough. I might like to do it again someday.”

“If you don’t bake,” he said, “where are we going to get bread? I don’t intend to spend my whole life travelling, buying meals or eating what I can snare or fetch with bow or sling.”

She smiled as if he had said something very pleasing, though he could not for the life of him see what. “The cook will bake, of course. One of her helpers, really, I suppose, but the cook will oversee it.”

“The cook,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “Or one of her helpers. Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“What is the matter, Perrin? You look worried. I don’t think the defences could be any sounder without a fortress wall.”

“It isn’t that. Faile, this Perrin Goldeneyes business is getting out of hand. I do not know who they think I am, but they keep asking me what to do, asking if it’s all right, when they already know what has to be done, when they could figure it out with two minutes’ thought.”

For a long moment she studied his face, those dark, tilted eyes thoughtful, then said, “How many years has it been since the Queen of Andor ruled here in fact?”

“The Queen of Andor? I don’t really know. A hundred years, maybe. Two hundred. What does that have to do with anything?”

“These people do not remember how to deal with a queen—or a king. They are trying to puzzle it out. You must be patient with them.”

“A king?” he said weakly. He let his head drop down onto his arms on the table. “Oh, Light!” Laughing softly, Faile ruffled his hair. “Well, perhaps not that. I doubt very much that Morgase would approve. A leader, at least. But she would very definitely approve a man who brought lands back to her that her throne has not controlled in a hundred years or more. She would surely make that man a lord. Perrin of House Aybara, Lord of the Theren. It has a good sound.”

“We do not need any lords in the Theren,” he growled at the oak tabletop. “Or kings, or queens. We are free men!”

“Free men can have a need to follow someone, too,” she said gently. “Most men want to believe in something larger than themselves, something wider than their own fields. That is why there are nations, Perrin, and peoples. Even Raen and Ila see themselves as part of something more than their own caravan. They have lost their wagons and most of their family and friends, but other  _ Tuatha’an _ still seek the song, and they will again, too, because they belong to more than a few wagons.”

“Who owns these?” Aram asked suddenly.

Perrin raised his head. The young Tinker was on his feet, staring uneasily at the spears lining the walls. Rand was paying no attention to Aram; he was watching Perrin and Faile and frowning over something they had said. “They belong to anybody who wants one, Aram,” Perrin said. “Nobody is going to hurt you with any of them, believe me.” He was not sure if Aram did believe, not the way he began walking slowly around the room with his hands stuffed into his pockets, eyeing spears and halberds sideways.

Perrin was more than grateful to dig in when Marin brought him a plate of sliced roast goose, with turnips and peas and good crusty bread. At least, he would have dug in, if Faile had not tucked a flower-embroidered napkin under his chin and snatched the knife and fork out of his hands. She seemed to find it amusing to feed him the way Bode and Eldrin had been feeding Aram. The Cauthon girls giggled at him, and Natti and Marin wore little smiles, too. Perrin did not see what was so funny. He was willing to indulge Faile, though, even if he could have fed himself more easily. She kept making him stretch his neck to take what she had on the fork.

Aram’s slow wandering took him around the room three times before he stopped at the foot of the stairs, staring at the barrel of ill-assorted swords. Then he reached out and pulled a sword from the cluster, hefting it awkwardly. The leather-wrapped hilt was long enough for both of his hands. “Can I use this one?” he asked.

Perrin nearly choked. He heard Min gasp and suddenly recalled a viewing she had told him about last month.  _ A  _ Tuatha’an _ with a sword _ .

Alanna appeared at the head of the stairs, with Ila; the  _ Tuatha’an _ woman looked weary, but the bruise was gone from her face. “... best thing is sleep,” the Aes Sedai was saying. “It is shock to his mind that troubles him most, and I cannot Heal that.”

Ila’s eyes fell on her grandson, on what he held, and she screamed as if that blade had gone into her flesh. “No, Aram! Nooooo!” She almost fell in her haste to get down the stairs and flung herself on Aram, trying to pull his hands from the sword. “No, Aram,” she panted breathlessly. “You must not. Put it down. The Way of the Leaf. You must not! The Way of the Leaf! Please, Aram! Please!”

Aram danced with her, fending her off clumsily, trying to hold the sword away from her. “Why not?” he shouted angrily. “They killed Mother! I saw them! I might have saved her, if I had had a sword. I could have saved her!”

The words sliced at Perrin’s chest. A Tinker with a sword seemed an unnatural thing, almost enough to make his hackles stand, but those words ...  _ His mother _ . “Leave him alone,” he said, more roughly than he intended. “Any man has a right to defend himself, to defend his ... He has a right.”

Aram pushed the sword toward Perrin. “Will you teach me how to use it?”

“I don’t know how,” Perrin told him. “You can find someone, though.”

Aram looked at Rand, but the other man shook his head. “No,” he said firmly.

Tears rolled down Ila’s contorted face. “The Trollocs took my daughter,” she sobbed, her entire body shaking, “and all my grandchildren but one, and now you take him. He is Lost, because of you, Perrin Aybara. You have become a wolf in your heart, and now you will make him one, too.” Turning, she stumbled back up the steps, still racked with sobs.

“I could have saved her!” Aram called after her. “Grandmother! I could have saved her!” She never looked back, and when she vanished around the corner, he slumped against the banister, weeping. “I could have saved her, grandmother. I could have ...”

Perrin realized Bode was crying, too, with her face in her hands, and the other women were frowning at him as though he had done something wrong. No, not all of them, just the Therener ones. Alanna studied him from the head of the stairs with that unreadable Aes Sedai calm, and Faile’s face was nearly as blank.

Wiping his mouth, he tossed the napkin on the table and got up. There was still time to tell Aram to put the sword back, to go ask Ila’s pardon. Time to tell him ... what? That maybe next time he would not be there to watch his loved ones die? That maybe he could just come back to find their graves?

He put a hand on Aram’s shoulder, and the man flinched, hunching around the sword as if expecting him to take it. The Tinker’s scent carried a wash of emotions, fear and hate and bone-deep sadness. Lost, Ila had called him. His eyes looked lost. “Wash your face, Aram. Then go find Tam al’Thor. Say I ask him to teach you the sword.”

Slowly the other man raised his face. “Thank you,” he stammered, scrubbing at the tears on his cheeks with his sleeve. “Thank you. I will never forget this. Never. I swear it.” Suddenly he hoisted the sword to kiss the straight blade; the hilt had a brass wolfhead for a pommel. “I swear. Is that not how it is done?”

“I suppose it is,” Perrin said sadly, wondering why he should feel sad. The Way of the Leaf was a fine belief, like a dream of peace, but like the dream it could not last where there was violence. He did not know of a place without that. A dream for some other man, some other time. Some other Age perhaps. “Go on, Aram. You have a lot to learn, and there may not be much time.” Still bubbling thanks, the Tinker did not wait to wash his tears away, but ran straight out of the inn, carrying the sword upright before him in both hands.

Conscious of Eldrin’s scowl and Marin’s fists on her hips and Natti’s frown, not to mention Bode’s weeping, Perrin walked back to his chair. Faile watched him pick up his knife and fork. “You disapprove?” he said quietly. “A man has a right to defend himself, Faile. Even Aram. No-one can make him follow the Way of the Leaf if he doesn’t want to.”

“I do not like to see you in pain,” she said very softly.

His knife paused in cutting a piece of goose. Pain? That dream was not for him. “I am just tired,” he told her, and smiled. He did not think she believed him.

“I guess we’re both Lost, now,” Merile said in a sad little voice, she was staring at the doorway Aram had just run through.

Alanna came the rest of the way downstairs and went to stand over the Tinker girl. “It is often hard for the girls to leave their pasts behind, but you will come to see that the Tower is where you belong. Forget the Way of the Leaf, child, as those before you did. We will help you adjust to your new life.” Her smile made a white slash in her dark face. “We will even give you a new name. It is traditional, with  _ Tuatha’an _ initiates. Pick something you will like, and be grateful; most people do not get to choose their own names.”

Rand grunted as though struck. Perrin thought he would say something cutting about Faile—he was one of those who still refused to call her anything but Zarine—but instead he looked at Merile worriedly. “What’s she talking about, Merile? Are you going to the White Tower?”

“I have to,” Merile said glumly. “During the attack, when all those monsters were carrying Cerani away and it looked like they would get me, too, I ... I did ... something. I felt all weird. I still feel weird. And when I was being weird, weird things happened. You know, I think they were really trying to kill us! And I didn’t want to die, so I did something. It scared the monsters as much as it did me, so we were all able to run away. All the ones who weren’t dead, I mean. And that makes me a bad Person ... And I’m babbling again, aren’t I?” She sighed. “My mother said I might have been channelling, and Alanna Sedai says she was right. So I have to leave the caravan and go to Tar Valon. It’s what all the girls like me do.”

“Then why is it black, instead of white?” Min whispered. Her voice was so low that Perrin doubted anyone but he and Raine had heard. The wolfsister’s mouth was downturned and she quite sensibly avoided looking at the Aes Sedai. Perrin doubted that would save her from their scrutiny though. At the very least, he could be certain that Moiraine knew about her.

Rand sighed. “Well, if it saved you from the Trollocs, I’m glad of it. Though I’m still sorry about the consequences, and about your friend.”

Alanna’s arch look had no effect on him. Most people would not openly describe going to the White Tower as something to be sorry over, and the Green sister did not look at all pleased at Rand doing so. His casual disregard just seemed to annoy her more.

“I ... Thank you. Thank you for everything. For all your help,” Merile told Rand. “Cerani’s mother went to look for her, but ... What could she do against those things?” Rand’s expression reflected Perrin’s thoughts. One woman, and a Tinker at that, against a horde of Trollocs? The poor woman was surely dead by now. Merile looked at Rand imploringly. “Will you come visit me? Not now, or course. But maybe later. I could use a friend. My parents said they can’t. They have to make a clean break, since I’m one of the Lost now.”

Rand grimaced. “I’m sorry, Merile. I’d like to visit you—I swear I would. But Tar Valon isn’t somewhere I ever plan to go.”

“And why is that, Rand?” Alanna said challengingly.

He faced her directly, and did not lower his eyes before her stare. “Lots of reasons. High among them is the way you Aes Sedai have been keeping my friend Mat a prisoner there for the past half-year.”

“You speak of things you do not understand. The weavings of the Wheel are too complex—”

“I understand a hunger for power and control just fine,” Rand interrupted, uncaring of how rude he was being. “It’s not a very complicated motivation. If anything it’s disturbingly common.”

Alanna was far from the only woman in the room whose eyes widened in outrage at the way he spoke to her. Aes Sedai were the undisputed power in Valgarda, and had been for almost all of history. Any time the matriarchy found itself challenged, the threat of bringing in the Aes Sedai was enough to end all resistance. That was true even here in the Theren, where Aes Sedai were distrusted by almost everyone, male or female. Min plucked at Rand’s sleeve and muttered a low warning. Even the ever-loyal Hurin didn’t look very eager to lend his support to Rand in this; he sat forwards in his chair, dry washing his hands as he looked back and forth between Rand and Alanna.

“Most of the Therener men I have spoken to have been rather polite. But I see you are an outlier in more ways than one,” said Alanna coldly. “I expect it comes of not having a mother.”

Rand’s head jerked up at that last. Not many people in the Theren ever mentioned Kari al’Thor around him. It would have been considered rude. Perrin wasn’t about to tell Alanna that though. He wasn’t surprised to learn she knew about Rand’s family. She’d been asking around Emond’s Field about him—and Mat and Perrin, too—practically since the moment she arrived.

“You mustn’t judge them all by this, Alanna Sedai,” Natti Cauthon said. “He was a very polite boy before he left last year.” She looked at Rand scornfully. “He must have picked up these bad habits in the outside world.” Natti had never been overly fond of Aes Sedai, according to what Mat had told him, but she still clutched her hands together and looked to Alanna for approval, and never mind what Rand had said about her son’s captivity. Eldrin mirrored her mother’s expression, and even Bode wore a scowl. Such was the power of the Aes Sedai. And Rand, the fool, continued to frown at Alanna as though she’d tracked muddy shoes across his carpet. Marin al’Vere watched the unfolding argument with a conflicted look on her lined face.

Before anyone could say more, Bran stuck his head in at the front door. He wore his round steel cap again. “Riders coming from the north, Perrin. A lot of riders. I think it must be the Whitecloaks.”


	62. Lord Captain Bornhald

CHAPTER 59: Lord Captain Bornhald

Faile darted away as Perrin rose, and by the time he was outside on Stepper, with the Mayor marching past, muttering to herself about what she meant to say to the Whitecloaks, she came riding her black mare around the side of the inn. More people were running north than stayed at their tasks. Rand and Alanna emerged from the inn, still eyeing each other frostily. Perrin blinked when several Aiel seemed to appear from out of thin air as soon as Rand stepped into the street. Out on the Green, Uno had words with Geko before calling out half a dozen familiar names, all of whom were soon mounting up and riding towards Rand.

“How do you think we should handle this?” Rand asked. “I know you don’t like Whitecloaks, but if there’s a chance we can get them to fight the Trollocs instead of us we should take it.”

Perrin was very mindful of Alanna lurking nearby. “Like Tarcain Cut?” he said in a neutral voice. Almost none of those Rand had gotten to fight the Trollocs for him back there had survived to tell of it.

Rand’s lips twisted. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Perrin grunted in response. “Why are you asking me, anyway? You usually just do whatever you please.”

Rand shrugged. “It pleases me to see the Theren safe. So long as it is, I don’t much care how it became so. I’ll worry about the consequences afterwards.”

“What consequences?” Perrin asked, frowning.

“Never mind. Maybe I’m just imagining things,” Rand sighed. By then, Saeri was leading Bela around from the stables. The girl handed the mare’s reins to Rand and smiled at his thanks.

Rand mounted up and they rode off north, followed by his guards. Perrin was in no particular hurry. The Children of the Light might well be there to arrest him. They probably were. He did not mean to go along in chains, but he was not anxious to ask people to fight Whitecloaks for him. He joined the stream of men and women and children crossing the Wagon Bridge across the Winespring Water, Stepper’s and Swallow’s and Bela’s hooves clattering on the thick planks. A few tall willows grew here along the water. The bridge was where the North Road began, then ran to Watch Hill and beyond. Some of the distant smoke plumes had thinned to wisps as fires burned themselves out.

Where the road left the village, he found a pair of wagons blocking the road and men gathered behind pointed, slanting stakes with their bows and spears and such, smelling of excitement, murmuring to each other and all jammed together to watch what was coming down the road: a long double column of white-cloaked horsemen trailing a cloud of dust, conical helmets and burnished plate-and-mail shining in the afternoon sun, steel-tipped lances all at the same angle. At their head rode a grandfatherly man whose hair was more white than grey. Geofram Bornhald. Perrin had been almost certain it would be him. With the arrival of the Mayor, the murmurs hushed expectantly. Or maybe it was Perrin’s arrival that quieted them.

Two hundred paces or so from the stakes, Bornhald raised a hand, and the column halted with sharp orders echoing down the files. He came on with just half a dozen Whitecloaks for company, running his eyes over the wagons and sharp stakes and the men behind. His manner would have named him a man of importance even without the knots of rank beneath the flaring sunburst on his cloak.

Luc had appeared from somewhere, resplendent on his shiny black stallion in rich red wool and golden embroidery. Perhaps it was natural enough that the Whitecloak officer chose to address himself to Luc, though his eyes continued to probe. “I am Geofram Bornhald,” he announced, reining in, “a Lord Captain of the Children of the Light. You have done this for us? I have heard that Emond’s Field is closed to the Children, yes?”

Bornhald’s sad gaze swept over the gathering. He looked just as Perrin remembered him, back when he had sentenced Perrin to death by hanging—a weary but stern grandfather, disappointed in his grandchildren’s behaviour. His study paused on Rand, before he nodded knowingly. The Aiel won a surprised blink, but his surprise lasted only a moment, before his lips thinned in disapproval. When Bornhald’s eyes met Perrin’s there was an instant flash of recognition, followed by a small sigh.

“Perrin, of the Theren. We meet again.”

Perrin tried to find the hatred he’d expected to feel on seeing Bornhald, but there was only a hollow pit in his stomach and chest. Whitecloaks had killed his family, Whitecloaks this man had brought. He might even have ordered them to do it.  _ Where is my hate? _ But somehow, he couldn’t really make himself believe that Bornhald had ordered Fain to do what he’d done.

The hollow-cheeked man beside Bornhald was also familiar, and Perrin would have put nothing past him. Perrin would never forget those deep-set eyes, like dark burning coals. Tall and gaunt and hard as an anvil, Jaret Byar looked at him with hate. Whether or not Bornhald was a zealot, Byar surely was.

Luc apparently had the sense not to try usurping Marin’s place—indeed, he appeared intent on examining the white-cloaked column as the dust settled, revealing more Children stretching up the road—to Perrin’s surprise, though, Marin looked to Faile—to the outsider—waited for her nod before answering. She was the Mayor! Bornhald and Byar plainly took note of the silent exchange.

“Emond’s Field is not precisely closed to you,” Marin said, “We have decided to defend ourselves, and have this very morning. If you want to see our work, look there.” She pointed toward the smoke rising from the Trollocs’ pyres. A sickly-sweet smell of burning flesh drifted in the air, but no-one except Perrin seemed to notice. At her side, Bran stood up straight with his spear propped out.

“You have killed a few Trollocs?” Byar said contemptuously.

“More than a few!” somebody called out of the Theren crowd. “Hundreds!”

“We had a battle!” another voice cried, and dozens more shouted angrily on top of one another. “We fought them and won!”

“Where were you?”

“We can defend ourselves without any Whitecloaks!”

“The Theren!”

“The Theren and Perrin Goldeneyes!”

“Goldeneyes!”

“Goldeneyes!”

Leof, who should have been over guarding the woodsmen, started waving that crimson wolfhead banner.

Bornhald took it all in calmly, but Byar danced his bay gelding forward with a snarl. “Do you farmers think you know battle?” he roared. “Last night one of your villages was all but wiped out by Trollocs! Wait until they come at you in numbers, and you will wish your mother had never kissed your father!” He fell silent at a weary gesture from Bornhald, a fierce-trained dog obeying his master, but his words had quieted the Theren people.

“Which village?” Marin’s voice was dignified and troubled both. “We all know people in Watch Hill, and Deven Ride.”

“Watch Hill has not been troubled,” Bornhald replied, “and I know nothing of Deven Ride. This morning a rider brought me word that Taren Ferry hardly exists any longer. If you have friends there, a few people escaped across the river. And a few more may have fled into the woods.” His face tightened momentarily. “I myself lost nearly fifty good soldiers.”

The news produced a few queasy murmurs; no-one liked to hear that sort of thing, but on the other hand, no-one here knew anyone in Taren Ferry. Likely none of them had ever been that far.

Luc pushed his horse forward, the stallion snapping at Stepper. Perrin reined his own mount tightly before the two began fighting, but Luc appeared not to notice or care. “Taren Ferry?” he said in a flat voice. “Trollocs attacked Taren Ferry last night?”

Bornhald shrugged. “I said it, did I not? It seems that the Trollocs have at last decided to raid the villages. How providential that you here were warned in time to prepare these fine defences.” His stare ran over the pointed hedge and the men behind it before settling on Perrin.

“Was the man called Ordeith at Taren Ferry last night?” Luc asked.

Perrin stared at him. He had not known Luc even knew of Padan Fain, or the name he used now. But people did talk, especially when someone they knew as a peddler came back with authority among Whitecloaks.

Bornhald’s reaction was as strange as the question. His eyes glittered with more hate than he had ever shown Perrin. “You know Ordeith?” he said, leaning toward Luc in his saddle.

It was Luc’s turn to shrug casually. “I have seen him here and there since coming to the Theren. A disreputable-looking man, and those who follow him no less. The sort who might have been careless enough to allow a Trolloc attack to succeed. Was he there? If so, one can hope he died for his folly. If not, one hopes you have him here with you, close under your eye.”

“I do not. Ordeith enjoys the patronage of the Lord Captain Commander, and comes and goes as he pleases,” Bornhald said in a flat voice.

Luc’s lips thinned. “How fortunate for him.”

“Very fortunate,” Rand agreed. Luc gave him that same odd look that Perrin had noticed him giving since they met, a moment’s recognition followed immediately by complete dismissal. Rand was more interested in Perrin’s reaction though. Their eyes met, and he saw the question there. Should they make the accusation? Perrin ground his teeth. His throat felt tight and he did not trust himself to form the words. So he nodded, and let Rand do the talking.

“Padan Fain, or Ordeith as he’s taken to calling himself now, led a group of Whitecloaks that raided the Aybara farm, out near the Waterwood. They murdered almost everyone there. Did you know about that, Lord Bornhald? Did you order it?” Rand delivered his accusation in the same uncompromising tone with which he’d reproached the Aes Sedai just minutes earlier. Now, as then, he didn’t flinch away from the outraged glares of those he accused, or pay any heed to the startled murmurs of the onlookers.

“Darkfriend!” Byar snarled, reaching for his sword. “You dare accuse the Lord Captain?”

But Bornhald’s reaction was very different. “I questioned Ordeith on that matter. He claims that Trollocs had already killed the Aybaras before he was able to bring them into custody. Do you have proof that it was otherwise?” His voice was grim, but unlike Byar, he did not look like a man who had already made up his mind on who was guilty and who was innocent.

Rand nodded once. “We do. Fain was not as thorough as he thought. Emi Aybara was inside her house when he burned it. She lost both legs when the building collapsed on her, but she survived, and is resting in the village even now. It is her that names him, and the Whitecloaks with him, as the murderers. The youngest victim was a boy of ten, if that matters to you.”  _ Paet _ .

Bornhald’s jaw clenched angrily, but no less angrily than that of the Thereners surrounding Perrin and Rand. Emi’s tale had not been spread around, at Perrin’s request. Questions and condemnations were shouted at them from all sides, so many that Perrin couldn’t tell one from another.

Marin’s soft voice could barely be heard over the racket, but her husband had a voice much better suited to shouting and he soon took up her cry. “Quiet! All of you! This is no time for everyone and his dog to be shouting out! Quiet I say!”

The shouts trailed off slowly, leaving a tense silence in their place. It was a long time before Bornhald finally spoke once more. “I am inclined to believe you.” Byar stared at his Captain in disbelief, but Bornhald ignored him. “You are the al’Thor boy, yes? Ordeith has accused you of being a Darkfriend, along with one Matrim Cauthon, and young Perrin here.”

Masema surged forward as quickly as a loosed bowstring. “You dare accuse the Lord—”

“Masema!” Rand snapped. “Get back in formation, and hold your tongue!”

There was spittle on the Shienaran’s chin, so viciously had he spat out his words. He quivered into straight-backed attention when Rand spoke, but his deep-set eyes remained locked with Byar’s and Perrin had a hard time telling which of their stares was the most unsettling. The Whitecloak had cleared a foot of steel when Masema moved, and looked eager to clear the rest, but Masema backed away, just as Rand told him to.  _ Like a fierce-trained dog obeying his master _ , Perrin thought sourly. His eyes met Rand’s once more and he saw the same recognition in them that he was sure was in his own.

Rand grimaced. “I’m not a Darkfriend. But Fain is,” he said simply.

“The Lord Captain Commander sent him to us,” Byar said. “There are many secret villages in the Theren, and the Darkfriends—”

Bornhald’s reins slapping into his gauntleted palm cut him off. “What Darkfriends? I have seen nothing in any village here except farmers and craftsmen worried that we will burn their livelihoods, and a few old women who tend the sick.” Byar’s face was a study in lack of expression; he was always ready to see Darkfriends. “And children, Byar? Do children here become Darkfriends?”

“The sins of the mother are visited to the fifth generation,” Byar quoted, “and the sins of the father to the tenth.” But even he looked uneasy as he said it. Rand shook his head scornfully.

“Child Darkfriends? Preposterous! Outrageous!” Perrin looked askance at Marin al’Vere. He’d never heard her truly angry before. Even when she was arguing with someone from the Village Council or the Women’s Circle, she never really raised her voice. But Byar’s suggestion had managed to get her livid. Rand and Bran looked even more surprised than Perrin.

“I wish I could agree with you, Mistress,” said Bornhald, and he sounded as if he meant it, “but we have found such communities before. Villages hidden in the far corners of the world, where everyone worships the Father of Lies, and every child born to those vile parents is raised to worship as they do. Such is the evil of the Shadow, yes? Such is why it must be wiped out.” He turned his sad gaze back to Rand. “I will need to speak to your witness before I can draft the order for Ordeith’s arrest.”

“That seems reasonable,” Rand said slowly. “Just so long as you don’t expect us to hand Emi over to you. She stays in the village.”

Bornhald nodded his acceptance of that, and Perrin began to think they would get through this without setting yet another ingot worth of trouble in the fire, but then Bornhald turned his eyes Perrin’s way and he saw in them the same sad but stern condemnation he had seen before. “Perrin Aybara however, has been convicted of murdering two members of the Children of the Light. He was sentenced to death for this crime once before, but escaped his bonds and fled into the night before he could be hanged. This injustice must be righted now.”

Behind the barrier separating the Whitecloaks from the Theren men, angry mutters rose, spears and bills were hefted, bows raised. The farther Whitecloaks began spreading out in a gleaming line under shouted orders from a fellow as big in his armour as Master Weyland, sliding lances into holders along their saddles, unlimbering short horse bows. At that range they could do little more than cover the escape of Bornhald and the men with him, if they did indeed manage an escape, but Bornhald appeared oblivious of any danger.

“There will be no more arrests, Lord Bornhald,” Marin said firmly. “The Women’s Circle has decided that. No more arrests without proof of some crime, and proof we believe.”

“And you’ll never show me anything to convince me Perrin is a Darkfriend,” Bran added.

“It was not that which I accused him of,” Bornhald said calmly, “though there is evidence that suggests guilt there, too. His murders however, were witnessed by over a dozen people, whose testimonies were duly recorded. He is guilty.”

The situation was growing more dangerous by the minute, Perrin realized. Byar saw it and tugged at Bornhald’s arm, whispering to him, but the Whitecloak captain would not, or perhaps could not, back away now that he had Perrin in front of his eyes. Bran and the Theren men had their heels planted, too; they might not be willing to let the Whitecloaks take him even if he confessed to everything Bornhald claimed. Faile had a hand up her sleeve, where she often kept one of her many knives. Unless someone tossed some water fast, everything was going to explode like a fistful of dry straw tossed on a forge-fire.

He hated having to think quickly. Loial had the right of it. Hasty thinking led to people being hurt. But he thought he saw a way here. “Are you willing to hold off my arrest, Bornhald? Until the Trollocs are done with? I won’t be going anywhere before then.”

“What do you suggest, Perrin of the Theren?”

“Haven’t you noticed all the farms burning this morning?” Perrin said. He made a sweeping gesture that took in all the dwindling plumes of smoke. “Look around. You said it yourself. The Trollocs aren’t content with raiding a farm or two each night anymore. They’re up to raiding villages. If you try to make it back to Watch Hill, you may not get there. You were lucky to come this far. But if you stay here, in Emond’s Field ...” Bran rounded on him, and other men shouted loud noes; Faile rode close and seized his arm, but he ignored all of them. “... you will know where I am, and your soldiers will be welcome to help our defences.”

“Are you sure about this, Perrin?” Bran said, grabbing Stepper’s stirrup, while from the other side Faile said urgently, “No, Perrin! It is too great a risk. You must not—I mean ... please don’t—Oh, the Light burn me to bloody ash! You must not do this!”

“I won’t have men fighting men if I can stop it,” he told them firmly. “We are not going to do the Trollocs’ work for them.”

Faile practically flung his arm away. Scowling at Bornhald, she produced the knife from her sleeve and a sharpening stone from her pouch, and began honing the blade with a silk-soft whisk-whisk.

“Hari Coplin won’t know what to think, now,” Bran said wryly.

Marin put her hands on her hips. She looked up at the Whitecloak leader on his horse, and tried her best to make it seem that she was of a height with him, afoot or no. “You have heard his terms, Lord Bornhald. Now hear mine. If you come into Emond’s Field, you will arrest no-one without the say-so of the Women’s Circle, which you will not get, so you arrest no-one. You don’t go into anybody’s house unless you are invited. You make no trouble, and you share in the defence where and when you’re asked.” She shook a finger at the Whitecloaks. “And I don’t want to catch sight of a single Dragon’s Fang! Will you agree? If not, you can ride back as you came.” Byar stared at the little woman as if a sheep had reared up on its hind legs and offered to wrestle.

Bornhald never took his eyes off Perrin. “Done,” he said at last. “Until the Trolloc threat is gone, done.” He turned his horse around and trotted back toward the line of his men, snowy cloak billowing behind him.

As the Mayor ordered the wagons rolled aside, Perrin realized that Luc was looking at him. The fellow sat slumped easily in his saddle, a languorous hand on his sword hilt, blue eyes amused.

“I thought you would object,” Perrin said, “the way I hear you’ve been talking people up against the Whitecloaks.”

Luc spread his hands smoothly. “If these people want Whitecloaks among them, let them have Whitecloaks. But you should be careful, young Goldeneyes. I know something of taking an enemy into your bosom. His blade goes in quicker when he is close.” With a laugh, he pushed his stallion off through the crowd, back into the village.

“He is right,” Faile said, still stropping her knife on the stone. “Perhaps this Bornhald will keep his word not to arrest you, but what is to stop one of his men from putting a blade in your back? You should not have done this.”

“I had to,” he told her. “Better than doing the Trollocs’ work.”

“I was just getting used to not having to watch my back again,” Rand sighed.

“Why would you ever not watch your back?” one of the Aiel asked the others. Atswe, Perrin thought his name was. He sounded genuinely confused.

“Wetlanders don’t have to. Haven’t you noticed?” said Renay, who might have looked plain, if she wasn’t more than six feet of lean muscle topped by a mop of bright orange hair.

Atswe shook his head. “I almost feel sorry for them.”

“Don’t. Their weakness suits us,” broken-nosed Pearse said in his harsh voice.

The Whitecloaks were beginning to ride in by then, Bornhald and Byar at their head. Byar glared at him with unabated hatred, and the others, riding by in pairs ... Cold, hard eyes in cold, hard faces swung to regard him as they passed. They did not hate, but they saw a Darkfriend when they saw him. And Byar, at least, was capable of anything.

He had had to do it, but he thought maybe it would not be such a bad idea to let Dannil and Ban and the others follow him around the way they wanted to. He was not going to be able to sleep easy without somebody guarding his door.  _ Guards. Like some fool lord _ . At least Faile would be happy. If only he could make them lose that banner somewhere.

“Don’t be alone with them,” Rand said quietly. “Speak to them as little as you can, and when you must speak, make them come to you if possible. Send messengers, and keep your guards close. Kellis would have killed me if he could. These Whitecloaks will do the same to you if you let them.”

“I know,” Perrin growled irritably.

Rand’s jaw clenched angrily. “I expect you’ll be doing a lot of sitting back and watching others fight now. Enjoy your rest.” With that, he touched his heels to Bela’s flanks and trotted off, surrounded by his guards. Perrin sighed as he watched him go, and sighed again when Raine detached herself from the wall she’d been hiding against and padded off in his wake.

With the drama concluded, for now, the crowd began to disperse into knots of gossiping men and women, heading back to their day’s business. A few remained by the stakes though, apart from Dannil and the others. Most were men who’d been assigned to guard this part of the village’s perimeter today, but some were just loitering. Anna was one such. He hadn’t noticed her among the crowd, given how short she was, but the troubled frown on her face made it plain that she’d heard everything.

“Do you really mean to let him kill you?” she asked Perrin, once she’d drawn close.

“It’s what I deserve, isn’t it?” he said quietly.

“I never said that!”

Faile’s brows rose. “I may have overestimated you,” she said, staring down at Anna coolly from Swallow’s back, “and that’s saying a great deal.”

“Mind your business,  _ Zarine _ !” Anna snapped.

“I am.”

Anna ground her teeth, then turned her shoulder away from Faile, pointedly ignoring her. “Perrin, you shouldn’t have killed those men, but that doesn’t mean you deserve to die for it. There has to be some other way we can resolve this.”

He snorted. “Try telling Bornhald that. I’m in no hurry to dangle from a rope, Anna. But I’ll do whatever it takes to protect the Theren.”

She sighed. “Maybe I will. He’s not that bad for a Whitecloak.”

“Highly overestimated,” Faile said, in a low voice that was nowhere near low enough to make him think she hadn’t intended Anna to hear her. He wasn’t about to ask her not to stir things up, but he could still have wished for some peace and quiet.

Sure enough, Anna heard, and responded in kind. “Do you remember that Morrigan one Rand got the hots for, the one who turned out to be a Darkfriend? Do you remember all the things we said about her when he wasn’t around? I’m thinking them now.” Ignoring Faile’s narrowed eyes, she looked to Rand’s distant form, and saw Raine stalking him. “Why don’t you and Raine spend more time together? You have a lot in common, and she’s kinda pretty when she’s not snarling at everybody.”

“We have too much in common. Far too much,” he muttered. Even meeting Raine’s eyes made him feel uncomfortable; it woke instincts he wanted to stay deeply buried. “Besides, I don’t think she has much room in her mind for anyone else just now.”

“I’ve noticed,” Anna said dryly. “She’s been following him around like a lost puppy. I don’t get it. I mean, I could, if it was the obvious. He’s a good-looking man; it’s not as if I haven’t seen plenty of girls get all blushy and stuttery around him. If it was just that I’d think nothing of it. But this?” Anna shook her head disparagingly. “It’s ... weird. Can you explain it? Is it something to do with ... you know?”

It was, and he could. But speaking of such things to her—and, worse, in front of Faile—would have been even more discomfiting than speaking of them to Raine. So instead he gave a heavy shrug and dodged the issue, “Lots of people find power attractive. Bit of fame, bit of wealth. She’d hardly be the first person to throw themselves at someone who had those things.”

“I suppose that’s true. Doesn’t really seem like something Raine would do though. But then, it’s not like I really know her that well, so who am I to talk?”

“Who indeed?”

“Faile, please,” Perrin sighed. The Whitecloaks were setting up camp on the Green, while the Shienarans and the Aiel set about moving their own tents to make room.  _ Light have mercy; it wouldn’t take more than a raised voice to have all of that lot at each other’s throats. And them not twenty feet from the nearest houses, where good Theren folk were sleeping peacefully _ . There had to be something he could do to stop it from kicking off.

As he watched, Bornhald detailed Byar to oversee the raising of their camp, before he himself turned his horse towards the Winespring Inn, shadowed by half a dozen armoured guards. “Emi,” Perrin growled, as he kicked Stepper hard in the ribs. He left a startled Anna in his dust as he galloped back to the inn. There was no way he was going to leave his only surviving cousin alone with a bloody Whitecloak.

The inns common room was packed when Perrin threw open the front door and strode inside. Rand had left his Shienarans outside, but if he’d tried to leave the Aiel behind as well then he had failed. Six of them faced off against the six Whitecloaks Bornhald had brought with him, while Mistress al’Vere and her guests watched nervously. Only one of the Aiel was a Maiden but if anything she drew the most nervous looks of all from the opposing men; Amindha wasn’t as tall as some of the other Aiel women, but she was as heavily muscled as any blacksmith. She was usually quite friendly, despite her imposing size, but Perrin would have forgiven the Whitecloaks for not realising that, given the look on her face just then. He was relieved to see that none of the Aiel had veiled. Yet.

“There’s to be no fighting,” he growled.

“Whoever said there was going to be?” Rand asked. His voice and face were composed, but his cold grey eyes never left Bornhald’s.

“No-one. Though it does you no credit to bring these people into your company. However young you are, you must have heard of the crimes committed during the Aiel War.”

Perrin grimaced, torn between dismay and admiration at Bornhald’s calm chastisement of the Aiel standing right in front of him. He wasn’t a young man, and there was little doubt in Perrin’s mind that any one of the Aiel in the room could have killed the Lord Captain with ease, but that wasn’t enough to make him hold his tongue. Perrin wasn’t sure he’d have done the same, in Bornhald’s position. If the Aiel were offended or angered, no sign of it showed on their faces.

“My father fought in that war,” Rand said quietly. “He was at the Blood Snow. And there has been no trouble between him and them since they came to the Theren.”

“I was there, too, perhaps I will have the chance to speak to him of our experiences,” Bornhald said. “For now, you have already been given what should have been enough reassurances of my peaceful intentions, yes?”

Rand glanced at the soldiers the Lord Captain had brought with him, and smiled wryly. “Trust goes both ways. And the same with distrust. Why don’t we leave our friends down here while we go and speak to Emi? We wouldn’t want to frighten her.”

Bornhald drew off his gauntlets and tucked them behind his belt before responding. “Remain here, Child Earwin. I will be back soon.”

“But my Lord Captain—” A big man with a big moustache and a bald head began.

“You have heard my orders, yes? Follow them,” Bornhald said. His aging voice still had the snap of command to it. He strode off towards the stairs without waiting for Earwin’s salute.

Alanna was nowhere to be seen, or either of the other two Aes Sedai for that matter. Perrin was glad. The Whitecloaks would learn of them soon enough, but it would be better to deal with one crisis at a time. Merile had left, too, but the Cauthon women were still there, sitting quietly and watching with wide eyes. Bornhald recognised Natti but he did no more than nod to her as he passed. Perrin was glad they hadn’t killed anyone while freeing the prisoners. That would have made things even more difficult.

He left Faile with Min and Mistress al’Vere and followed Rand and Bornhald upstairs.

“You named Ordeith a Darkfriend earlier,” Bornhald said when they reached the top of the stairs. “Do you have proof of that?”

“Other than my word? Not really. He admitted it at Fal Dara, in front of numerous witnesses. And the Shadow raided the keep to free him. But does it even matter? Darkfriend or otherwise, he is a murderer of children.” Rand led the way to Emi’s room as he spoke. Their footsteps sounded loud on the wooden floorboards.

“It matters. It always matters. And in this case it may matter more than you know,” Bornhald muttered.

Rand rapped on the door, and Emi’s voice called out almost immediately. “Come in! The door’s unlocked.”

As soon as Rand opened the door, Perrin strode past them both and went to stand over the bed that Emi rested on. She wasn’t under the blankets liked he’d expected, instead she was sitting atop them wearing a white blouse and a pair of shorts rather than the dress she normally would have worn. The short stumps below her knees had been freshly bandaged since his last visit, but the sight of them still felt like a hammer blow to his gut. How was she supposed to live with no legs? As if Fain hadn’t done enough damage, he’d had to ruin her, too. Perrin wished there was something more he could do to help her, but all he could think of was to stand over her protectively, facing off against an old man who smiled down at her kindly. He felt worse than useless.

“Hello, Miss Aybara. I am Geofram Bornhald. First, let me express my profound sorrow for your loss. I know what it is like to lose a loved one to a cruel knife, but to lose so many at once? I cannot imagine it. You have my deepest sympathy. For that, and for your own injuries.”

Emi swallowed noisily before responding. “T-Thank you. I—” She looked at Perrin questioningly before turning her gaze back to Bornhald. “I ... Why are you here?”

“We already told him what you told us,” Rand put in. He was leaning against the doorjamb in a way that reminded Perrin of Lan. He had almost that same air of relaxed deadliness. Perrin knew it for a mere pose—Rand had gotten good with the sword, but he was nowhere near as good as Lan—but it suddenly occurred to him that anyone who wasn’t as familiar with them as Perrin was might have been hard-pressed to tell the difference. “He wanted to hear it from you though.”

“Do not tell her what to say,” Bornhald insisted sternly.

Rand shrugged. “I didn’t.”

Emi had been a small woman even before losing her legs, so small in fact that Perrin had often had to remind himself that she was a year older than him, rather than several years younger. The way that she clutched at the bedsheets, pale faced and wide eyed, as she struggled to find words, made it harder than ever to think of her as his elder cousin. He clenched his own fists in sympathy.  _ Is this really something I want to hear? _

“The Whitecloaks came to our farm weeks ago, looking for Perrin. At first we were excited to see them—we never get visitors like that in the Theren. Or almost never, anyway. And Master Fain was with them. He’s a peddler, Padan Fain. Skinny, not very handsome, but full of stories of the outside. We all knew him. He always smiled. But his smile was ... different this time. He said such awful things about Perrin that Aunt Joslyn called him a filthy-minded little fool. That made him angry, so he grabbed Deselle and—”

“Perrin. You don’t have to be here for this,” Rand interrupted. There was sympathy on his face, for all the firmness of his voice.

“Yes I do,” Perrin grated. His throat felt so tight that he thought the Whitecloaks might not need to hang him after all.

Bornhald lowered his grandfatherly head. “I do not need to hear all the horrible details, my child. Simply tell me this: Who killed your kinfolk at the farm that day?”

Emi had been telling her tale with an eerie calmness, but now that she looked into Bornhald’s eyes Perrin smelled something strange. The miasma of grief that he’d sensed around her ever since they’d found her in the Waterwood suddenly cleared and a bubbly pep took its place. “It was Master Fain. Him and the men he brought with him. They murdered my mother and father, my brother and sister, my sister’s husband, and everyone else. Then they burned the farm and rode away and left me for dead.” A rictus grin spread across her face. “It would be nice if someone could do something about them, but it won’t make any difference. That’s just the way of the world, you know? How do you like Emond’s Field so far, Master Bornhald?”

The old man’s brows rose at her sudden cheer. “... It is a pretty village, my child. Once again, I am sorry for your loss. Know that these criminals do not represent the true Children of the Light, and that they will be brought to justice. Pray excuse me.”

Bornhald left, leaving only the scent of his shame and anger behind. After one concerned glance at Emi, Rand went with him.

Alone with his cousin, Perrin let out a long breath. He dropped to the bed beside Emi, his hands clasped together between his knees. “I’m sorry you had to see another one of them, Emi, or relive what happened that day.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t be. I’m over it. It’s in the past now. Let’s not talk about it anymore.”

“I don’t think it will ever be completely in the past. Not for either of us,” Perrin said.

She scooted over and put her arm around his shoulders. “Sure it will. Just don’t waste your time thinking about it. You think too much, cousin. You should act more, instead.”

He grunted. “That isn’t exactly news. People have been calling me slow for as long as I can remember. I just prefer to think things through.”

Emi reached up and placed her hand on his cheek, then gently turned his face towards her. “Then just stop thinking, and feel instead.” So saying, she craned her neck up and pressed her lips to his.

Perrin was too shocked to react at first. He just sat there, staring down as his cousin’s face as her lips moved against his closed mouth. He’d known Emi his whole life. She was practically his sister, and though marrying your cousin was pretty common in the Theren, he had never once thought of her in such a way. He didn’t think of her that way now either. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her, or that she wasn’t pretty. He did and she was. But there was something very unnatural about her behaviour. This was not the way someone should respond to the kind of grief they had experienced; not in Perrin’s view at least. It took an agonisingly long time for Emi to realise that Perrin wasn’t going to kiss her back. When she finally did, and her dark eyes opened to peer into his yellow ones, he saw a flash of anger there.

“What’s wrong?” she said, settling back onto the bed.

“I just don’t think this is very appropriate, Emi. Are you feeling okay?” he said slowly.

“I’m fine,” she said, visibly annoyed.

“No you aren’t. I’m certainly not fine, and I didn’t have to watch it happen.”

“Why is my saying I'm fine not good enough? You’re concerned, I get that. That’s nice. But I’m fine, and it’s nothing that you need to worry about.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be foolish, Emi. You’re my last living relative. Of course I’m going to worry about you.”

“Well then don’t treat me like a child who doesn’t know her own mind!” she yelled. There was an anger in her eyes that Perrin couldn’t ever recall having seen before. He didn’t know what he should do, or say, in response to this kind of reaction from her, and the long minutes he spent working the problem over in his mind just led to Emi setting her jaw stubbornly. “Look. I appreciate the concern, cousin, but if you’re not going to even kiss me then I’d prefer if you just left.”

“I ... If that’s what you want,” Perrin said, rising slowly to his feet.

He moved to the door just as slowly, but Emi did not call him back, even when he let himself out and quietly closed the door behind him.


	63. Standing Tall

CHAPTER 60: Standing Tall

“We outnumber them, but with them positioned right in the heart of the village like that, they could do a lot of damage before we could respond, if they decided to attack us. How could we prevent that? Assign men to watch them?”

Tam hooked his thumbs behind his wide swordbelt and leaned back against the front wall of the Winespring Inn. His bluff face turned from considered the Whitecloak camp to considering his son and he waited a long time before answering Rand’s question. “How would you prevent it, lad?”

Rand shifted his seat on the bench. Tam hadn’t given him a straight answer to any of his questions in the past few days. The answer he had just given was in keeping with the tone of those he’d given earlier. It was frustratingly reminiscent of Moiraine. “Well, I’d probably put them somewhere off to the side rather than right there on the Green. And I’d have scouts assigned to watch them, with a prearranged signal to alert the rest of us that they were getting up to no good, and a plan to attack them as soon as that signal was given. But I was kind of hoping you’d tell me how it should be done, not leave me to guess.”

“I’m not you, lad. If just anyone could do the things you are supposed to do, then there’d be no need for all those prophecies,” Tam said, very quietly. They were alone, but Rand still found himself looking around nervously; he didn’t want anyone in Emond’s Field finding out the truth about him. “I can’t just tell you how to do things. If I—or anyone else, even one of the Aes Sedai—knew how to stop the Dark One, then we’d have done it already. This is your field to tend, not mine.”

“But I don’t know either! Am I just supposed to guess at everything!?” Rand’s whisper was so intense it came out as an angry hiss.

“I can give you advice, son. I can support you. Of course I’ll do that. But the bulk of this is going to have to come from you. I’m sorry, but that’s just how it is. For what it’s worth, the plan you propose for the Whitecloaks matches what I would have done when I was Second Captain in the Companions. You’ve got a good mind for these things. The only thing I’d add would be to make sure the archers assigned to counter any treachery knew to take the high ground, to limit the advantage the Whitecloaks gain from their horses.”

Tam’s calm voice bled Rand’s anger away. He leaned back in his seat and sighed. “I should be glad you aren’t telling me what to do. I’ve been fighting with Moiraine over her wanting to give me orders for months now. But ...” But he’d wanted his father to make everything better and take this burden from him, Rand realised. He’d have cut off his own hand before he admitted that aloud though.

“You’re a grown man now, Rand. And a man of responsibility at that,” Tam said. It was hard to tell from his tone whether that was a rebuke or a bit of encouragement.

Emond’s Field bustled around them in an unsettling mixture of domestic and foreign. There were more familiar faces packed into the town than he’d have seen on any feastday, and in among them wandered folk so outlandish that the old Rand would have stood and stared at them open-mouthed. Many of the Thereners still did that, but more had already grown accustomed to the sight of Shienarans and Aiel and Whitecloaks. But not Aes Sedai. No-one ever got used to them.

As if thinking of her had summoned her, the Winespring Inn’s front door opened and Moiraine emerged, clad in a rich blue dress with her hair immaculately curled and that sparkling blue gem she liked dangling across her forehead. Lan was at her shoulder, wearing the scaled green armour he usually kept in his saddlebags. He had his colour-shifting Warder’s cloak pushed back far enough to leave his swordhand free, but not far enough to hide its distinctive, sick-making pretence of near-invisibility. The Aes Sedai had kept clear of the Whitecloaks so far, not wanting to provoke them, but it was inevitable that Bornhald and his men learn of their presence sooner or later, and it seemed Moiraine had decided to make it sooner.

Rand didn’t see any way he could stop her, even if he had wanted to, which he wasn’t sure he did. As little as he trusted them, the Aes Sedai’s abilities were worth more than Bornhald’s cavalry. If the two groups couldn’t get along, he’d knew which one he’d choose to be rid of. Officially, that decision wasn’t his, of course. The Women’s Circle should make it, assuming they weren’t curtsying to Lady Faile and Lord Perrin. Unofficially, Rand intended to do whatever he thought best, no matter what anyone else said.

“Do you mean to march right up to the Lord Captain and announced yourself?” he asked Moiraine. They might regret not having that plan in place if she did.

Moiraine actually came and sat on the bench beside him, like they were an old married couple just watching the people go about their business. Lan leaned against the wall on the other end of the bench from Tam, watching all. “Nothing so dramatic, Rand,” Moiraine said. “But we cannot hide from the Children of the Light for long, and it would not do to let them think we were afraid of them. No, they must be afraid of us instead.”

“Are you going to make an example of one?”

She raised a brow at him. “Is that what you would do?”

His lips twisted into a mockery of a smile at her near-copy of Tam’s earlier answer. He hesitated to speak, not wanting her to know his mind. The more she knew of him, the easier it would be for her to manipulate him. But in the end, he answered honestly. “I’d wait for one of them to give me an excuse, but I’d come down on him hard if and when he did.”

“I see,” she said with a small smile. He couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t explain how she would handle the situation. Moiraine, too, knew what advantages could be gained by denying anyone insight into your thoughts. It was her he had learned that from after all.

The Whitecloaks hadn’t noticed Moiraine yet, but she got some odd looks from the passing villagers and farmfolk, even ones who’d met her before. Perhaps they’d been expected her to stick to her room in the inn, now that Bornhald had made himself at home in Emond’s Field. Even the new Wisdom, Daisy Congar, faltered in her march towards whatever task she was about long enough to stare at them out of the corner of her eye. Daisy would have been a big woman in almost any land, but she was especially huge for a Theren woman, standing almost six feet tall, and muscular to boot. She wasn’t a woman that was easily intimidated by any means, but she watched Moiraine almost shyly for a long moment, before giving herself a shake and hurrying off again.

_ Their reputation is one of their weapons _ , Rand realised.  _ They use it to control people, and nations. And like any good soldier with his weapon, they tend to it carefully _ .

As the time ticked by, Rand wondered if Perrin had a plan for what to do if the Trollocs didn’t attack their defences. He also wondered if the Shadow was aware of just who they had besieged in Emond’s Field, and if they would make a special effort to see them dead. If one of the Forsaken came ... Rand would fight them, of course, even if it meant revealing his ability to channel to the rest of the Thereners. But he wasn’t at all confident he could win.

He wondered at a lot of things as he half-listened to Tam and Lan’s quiet conversation about the war while watched the folk wander by. Tief and his father had their bows in hand, though neither man was accounted more than a fair shot. They’d join the lines of archers just the same. When the targets were bunched together the way the Trollocs had been when they charged the village, accuracy was of less importance than usual. Rand’s own bow was propped beside him, and a full quiver sat at his feet. He’d join the fighting, too, when next the Trollocs came. He saw Calle Coplin pay a prolonged visit to the Shienaran camp and watched as she twisted her skirts in Uno’s direction, smiling all the while. He saw Ellie Torfinn, too, still looking lovely at forty or more. She smiled when she saw him watching, but hesitated to approach with the Aes Sedai so near. Rand was trying to think of an excuse to leave when Moiraine broke her silence.

“If you must indulge in such things, you should be more careful in who you choose to indulge with.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Rand lied.

She gave him a flat look. “No? Then let me say that the prudishness that you Theren folk pretend to would serve you much better if it was truth, rather than pretence. I had hoped your misadventures in Falmerden and Valreis might have taught you that.”

“It wasn’t all bad,” Rand muttered defensively, very conscious of Tam’s proximity. Sure, one of his lovers had turned out to be a Darkfriend, and another had turned out to be an assassin, but it could have been worse. Couldn’t it?  _ She is right though _ , some more mature part of him allowed.  _ I’d be safer if I kept myself isolated. And the poor people I inflict my company on would definitely be better off never having known me. Remember Lews Therin Kinslayer. He earned that moniker. I should stop indulging my desires like this _ . But he knew he wouldn’t. There was a hole in his heart that threatened to swallow him whole. And nothing else could fill it the way that such intimacy did.

Imoen poked her head out the door. “Hey. Rand. Saeri wants to know if you are ready for your supper yet. Me, I just want to know why you can’t get it yourself.”

“What are you implying, short stuff? I’m perfectly willing to do my own chores.” Needled, he got to his feet and marched to the door, but before he could push past Imoen, Saeri came running across the common room, waving her hands.

“No, no! You have to rest, my Lord. I will bring it to you. Um, forthwith!”

She flapped her hands at Rand and he let himself be pushed back out of the room by her gesture. He met Imoen’s eyes and spread his hands wide. “I try, but she keeps bullying me into relaxing.”

Imoen folded her arms across her flat chest and scowled at him. “Bullying? That’s funny. I don’t remember you being bullied by anyone, not even Nynaeve or Egwene. But somehow Saeri is able to do it. Hmm. Seems suspicious to me!”

Rand laughed at her expression, and went to reclaim his seat. “What can I say, Imoen? She’s just too strong for me.”

“I think you just enjoy being waited on hand and foot,” Imoen sniffed.

“Maybe I do,” Rand said, suddenly serious. It was certainly more convenient than attending to the chores himself. And it freed up his time to deal with other things. He’d been very much against the idea at first, but the more he allowed his armsmen and maids to attend him, the more seductively relaxing it got.  _ That’s something I should be worried about _ .

And yet, he still allowed Saeri to fuss over him when she brought out the tray, his only concession to decency being to insist she sit with him and share the meal. After some brief and overly dramatic fussing about proper maid-like behaviour, Saeri conceded with a cheer that made him doubt the sincerity of her objections.

Luci came outside while they were eating, perhaps missing her friends. It wasn’t Saeri or Imoen she ended up talking to most however, but one of the Shienaran armsmen standing nearby. Heita was the youngest of them and Rand had noticed him and Saeri growing closer as they journeyed across Valgarda. She’d been very shy of him at first—and of everyone else—but she didn’t hesitate to approach him now.

He couldn’t hear what they were saying at first. Luci spoke so quietly that it was sometimes a struggle to hear her even when she was right next to you, and Heita kept his own voice down—to make her more comfortable, Rand suspected. But as he was nearing the end of the meal, while Saeri was munching on the last slice of ham, Heita grew louder and more excited.

“I could show you how to control him, if you like. Peace, it would be better for everyone if you let me. You’d be safer, and you could even use him to take out some of our enemies, in the worse case. Not that I’d ever want you to be in a position that you might need the horse to fight, of course.”

“I-I wouldn’t want to be a bother,” a red-cheeked Luci whispered.

Heita grinned. “It wouldn’t be any bother at all! I’d love to do it.”

They were talking about the warhorses that Luci and Saeri had been given, back in Falmerden, after their previous owners perished in the fighting there. It hadn’t occurred to Rand until then, but Heita’s suggestion was a good one. Neither girl should be anywhere near the front lines in the event of a fight breaking out, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt if they knew how to command the beasts to fight for them. Saeri had overheard their talk as well. She looked at Rand with hope in her big blue eyes.

“Could you teach me, too, my Lord? I-If you have time, I mean.”

“I’m sorry, Saeri,” he sighed, “but I can’t teach you what I don’t know.”

“Maybe you should learn as well then,” Tam said. Saeri flicked her eyes his way briefly, but dropped them before he could make eye contact. He’d noticed before that she was shy of Tam, though he couldn’t guess at the reason.

“It is not that complicated, sheepherder. It would only be difficult if you did not already know how to ride a horse. For an experienced horseman, the additional commands should take no time at all to learn,” said Lan.

Rand nodded. With all the weapons he had at his disposal, he didn’t think he’d really need a warhorse’s help, but there was no reason not to learn how to control one, just in case. He dismissed the idea of asking Lan to teach him though. The Warder’s daily lessons in swordplay were enough of a drain on his time, and right now, with the Whitecloaks so close and no-one sure how they would react to learning there were Aes Sedai and Warders in the village, he doubted Lan would be willing to go more than a few feet away from Moiraine’s side.  _ I’ll ask one of the Shienarans. Uno ... No, he’d give himself a fit trying to bark instructions without cursing at his “Lord Dragon”. Izana maybe. He’s nice and helpful. He could show Saeri at the same time _ .

Saeri and Izana both proved amenable to the suggestion, and when they gathered out beyond the stakes, where they had enough space that they could be sure there’d be no accidents, Rand found that Lan’s words had been prophetic. It really wasn’t that hard, once you had someone to explain how it was done. He borrowed Izana’s new horse for the lesson, a muscular grey stallion named Smoke that had been demoted to packhorse duty ever since Masuto fell at Tarcain Cut, but had now been claimed by Izana to replace the one he’d lost in the Mountains of Mist. Saeri rode her Rose, and took a little longer than Rand to learn the commands, but Izana remained patient and encouraging with her, and soon she was standing in the stirrups while her horse lashed out at imaginary assailants with his front or back hooves. When they led the horses back through Emond’s Field’s streets, Rand thought the girl was walking more confidently than usual. The thought brought a smile to his face.

The smile faded when he saw Moiraine and Bornhald facing off against each other in the street outside Marin’s inn. The Whitecloak officer had his men around him, and almost every one of them was armed with a bow, but Moiraine looked unperturbed. Maigan and Alanna were there, too, backed by their Warders. Both women had their chins raised proudly, but they seemed to be letting Moiraine do the talking.

“Are there any orders I should pass on to Uno, my Lord?” Izana said in a quiet voice, as soon as he noticed what was unfolding.

Rand hesitated. As much as she got on his nerves, and as little as he trusted her, he’d take Moiraine’s side over Bornhald’s any day. But he had a good feeling about the Lord Captain. He didn’t seem an unreasonable or cruel man, by any means. Maybe she could talk sense into him. If Rand stuck his nose in, would he make things better, or worse? “No,” he said at last, “let her handle this.”

He still went to let Perrin know what was going on though. Just in case.

As it turned out, Perrin needed no telling. He was peering out of the downstairs window of the Winespring Inn’s common room, standing to the side where anyone looking in would have difficulty seeing him, when Rand entered. There was a look of concentration on his face and Rand had no doubt he was listening in on the conversation outside with his unnaturally sharp hearing. He didn’t interrupt, but he caught Tam’s eye and looked a question at him. His father nodded, and Rand knew that then that word had already been sent to the local archers.

There were others in the common room, mostly those who slept in the inn now, as Rand himself did. Zarine and Anna were there, looking daggers at each other each time their eyes met, and fretting visibly otherwise. Luc lounged in a cushioned chair by the fireplace, trying to look indifferent, but the way he cocked his head towards the door, keen to hear if voices became raised outside, put a lie to his pose.

Merile had been invited to share Alanna’s room once her ability to channel became known; if you could describe being told firmly that you’d be sleeping in a pallet there from now on as an invitation. And Sara had been given a room just as soon as Marin learned that she had nowhere else to stay. Emi had been brought downstairs, too, and all three girls now sat around a table, united in gloominess.

The al’Vere sisters were gathered around their mother, taking and offering counsel, and somehow Min had found her way into that circle. Rand knew she’d been helping Marin out, but he hadn’t realised they’d gotten that close. Saeri hastened over to ask Marin if she had any work that needed doing.

He suddenly wondered where Raine was sleeping. He’d never thought to ask, or to make arrangements for her, though he’d noticed how difficult she found it to interact with others. She wasn’t his responsibility but he still felt a flash of guilt that he’d left her to her own devices. For all he knew she’d been sleeping curled up under a bush somewhere.

He thought Merile might know more, so he went to their table, pulled out a chair and sat down.

“Not even going to ask for an invitation, Rand?”

He smiled at Emi. “You wouldn’t refuse an old friend, Emi, you’re too nice.”

“Trying to take advantage of my good nature? The nerve!” She had recovered much of the cheerfulness he’d always known from her, but it was obviously forced. Rand had no delusion that she had forgotten her grief, and admired her efforts to fight past it, even if that meant wearing a mask of happiness.  _ Brave girl _ .

“I’m a monster in human flesh, it’s true,” he drawled.

“No you’re not. Why do people keep saying that about themselves? Raine does it, too,” said Merile.

Rand had meant it for a joke, but he thanked Merile for her encouragement anyway. When he asked her about Raine, though, she had no information to share. They were friends, but the wolfsister’s sleeping arrangements remained a mystery.

“Why do you ask?” Emi said suspiciously. “You aren’t plotting to do anything dirty are you?”

Rand placed a hand over his heart. “Emi! How could you even think that of me?”

She peered at him through narrowed eyes. “I don’t know ... You used to seem such a nice, responsible boy. But then you came home surrounded by pretty girls. It makes a woman wonder ...”

“What about?” Merile asked guilelessly.

“Nothing!” Rand hastened to say. Merile had a tendency to say things she should not.

Emi’s eyes only narrowed further, and a smile curved her lips.

“Such suspicion! And to think I used to consider you pure of heart.” He turned to Sara, who’d sat through it all with her eyes fixed on the table. “Can you believe this, Sara? Eighteen years we’ve known each other. Where’s the trust?”

She glanced at him briefly, and then turned her gaze back to the apparently fascinating table. “I ... dunno.”

“There’s something we have in common,” he said with a smile. “I don’t suppose you found it out in the woods; how long have you been staying out there anyway?”

“Ah ... ages,” she said succinctly, still studying the table.

Rand wasn’t sure if Sara was just really shy or if he was somehow making her uncomfortable. Fearing the latter, he decided to excuse himself.

As he rose from his seat, Emi announced that she’d be going, too. She needed her rest, she claimed, and after all she’d lost, he had no doubt that was true. He looked down at her legs with concern. “Are you sore? Should I get the Wisdom?”

“You don’t have to worry about me, honest. I’m fine!”

“If you say so.” Fine she might be, but she still called out when he stepped away from the table.

“Hey, don’t just leave me here, you ass! I have no legs. How am I supposed to get upstairs without someone to carry me?”

“I know this one!” Merile said excitedly. “You walk like a doggy.”

Sara lost interest in the table long enough to gape at the Tinker. “She’s not doing that,” she said, then added in a low mutter, “And people say I’m weird ...”

“You’ll have to carry me, Rand,” Emi clarified, as though he hadn’t realised that himself.

“Will I?” he said sarcastically.

To make matters worse, she seemed to take him seriously. “Well, if you refused I’d have to pout. And you’d have to live with being the boy who made Emi Aybara pout. You don’t want that on your conscience, do you?”

“Definitely not. I imagine there’s a world out there in which I hang myself in shame over the horrible memory of it.” It was only half a joke. Given what he’d seen of the Lines of If, there might very well be such a place. Some of the things those other hims—or hers—had done in the grip of madness had been ... Well. Mad.

Perrin turned from the window to frown Rand’s way. He’d seen many of those worlds, too. Neither of them liked to talk of it though.

Emi swivelled around in her chair, showing no shame at displaying the bandaged stumps of her legs. He smiled at that. It wasn’t that he thought there was anything shameful about her injuries; it was just that he knew many people would be ashamed to be seen to have been maimed in such a manner. That Emi had the strength of character to rise above such things gladdened him. She held her arms up, fully expecting to be lifted, and Rand stooped to oblige her.

“I’ll do that,” Perrin said suddenly. Forgetting what was going on outside, he strode across the room towards them.

“No thank you, cousin,” Emi said firmly. “You just stay here, and keep an eye on Lord Bornhald.” Perrin froze mid-step. He frowned worriedly at Emi, and when his eyes shifted to Rand that frown became a scowl.

Rand didn’t know what Perrin was worried about, and with Emi tugging at his coatsleeve insistently, he had no time to try and figure it out. He put an arm behind her knees and another across her shoulders and lifted her as easily as he would a child. Emi had never been a big girl and she was even shorter now.

She seemed to feel it just then, too. “I probably look like an infant in your arms,” she muttered.

Rand’s lips twitched. “You were never a big girl to begin with; I must be three times your height now.”

She gasped. “You are not!” When he grinned down at her, he was surprised to see genuine anger in her dark eyes. He winced. In his experience, short men always hated to be teased about it, but short girls sometimes didn’t mind. And sometimes they did. Plainly, this was one of the latter cases.

“I’m sorry, Emi,” he said contritely. “That joke was in poor taste.”

She sniffed. “It’s okay, I’m sure you’ll make it up to me somehow.”

As Rand stepped towards the stairs, carrying Emi with him, he saw Perrin grimace over something.

When he reached the top of the stairs and turned down the hallway towards her room, Emi put her arms around his neck. “Thanks for your help, Rand.”

“It’s no problem at all. I’m happy to help.”

“Of course you are. I mean, it’s spending time with  _ me _ , after all,” Emi said with a breezy confidence that made him grin.

“I try to steal every opportunity I can to meet the legendary Emi Aybara, it’s true.”

“Hmm. You’d better. Ass.”

He had a brief difficulty with the door to her room, one which was easily solved by lowering Emi and letting her unlatch it for them. When he carried her inside he was struck by how little effect her presence had had on the room itself. His own chamber was full of his clothes and belongings, but Emi had brought nothing back to Emond’s Field save herself and her sorrows. What did she have left but those? Fain had burnt everything else. She’d probably inherit the Aybara land now, presuming they could drive the Trollocs from the Theren and make it safe to be reclaimed. Whether she sold it or hired people to work it for her, that should be enough to keep her. But such was a cold comfort in the face of all she had lost.

Emi let none of that dim her smile as he set her down on her bed. When he tried to straighten up again she grabbed hold of his collar.

“You like me, don’t you, Rand?” she said with an oddly intent look in her eyes.

“Um, of course I do. We’ve been friends forever, Emi. Why would you ever think I didn’t like you? The legs? That doesn’t change who you are.”

“I know that. I wasn’t asking for sympathy,” she said firmly, then put on a cocky smile and went on in a more playful voice. “I just meant that if you’re going to kiss me, you should probably do it soon.”

He stared at her wordlessly, and a mischievous twinkle kindled in Emi’s big, brown eyes. “You were thinking about it, weren’t you?” she teased. “I’d probably enjoy it, you know? You’re a really ... Well.”

Rand was frozen in place, standing half-bent over by the side of the bed, staring into Emi’s eyes. The thought of kissing her was a very welcome one to him—he’d always thought her nice and pretty and fun to be with. But this sudden forwardness alarmed him for a reason he couldn’t quite explain. His lack of response may have alarmed her, too, because she took a moment to compose herself, as though she was about to say something important before continuing.

“If you hadn’t figured it out by now, I always had a bit of a crush on you. You’re going to have to do something about that.”

“Duty is lighter than a feather,” he murmured.

“What?”

Rand knelt at the side of the bed and put his arm around Emi’s waist. “Never mind,” he breathed, just before his lips touched hers for the first time. Her arms went around his neck once more and she leant into the kiss. Her lips tasted faintly of strawberries, and of home. His arms tightened around her waist, pulling her closer as his tongued slipped past her lips to play with its mate.

He savoured her soft touch for a long time, and when she finally broke their kiss to catch her breath, Emi’s cheeks were flushed. “Remind me why I didn’t do that years ago.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

Emi gave him a playful shove. “As if! You were still in shock from how incredibly awesome I am at kissing. There’s not a thought left in your pretty little head, I bet.”

If Emi was expecting him to blush and stammer, she was in for a surprise. “Oh really?” Rand drawled, as he put his hands on the legless girl’s hips and lifted her effortlessly into his lap. “I think you’d be a little shocked by some of the things I’m thinking right now.”

Emi shifted her weight onto her knees long enough to slide her borrowed shorts down over her slender hips, then sank back onto Rand’s lap and looked him right in the eye. “Show me these things. I bet I won’t be shocked at all ...”

The trepidation Rand had felt when she first kissed him was a distant memory now. He wanted this girl, and he wanted her badly.

He slid a hand up the inside of her soft, pale thighs and sought the even softer flesh hidden between them. Emi whimpered at his gentle touch, and pressed her lips to his once more. She was already wet down there, and she only got wetter as he rubbed against her. When he dared to slip a finger inside her tight hole, she threw back her head, biting her lip and moaning sexily.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Rand said.

Emi pouted at him. “Wipe that smirk off your face, al’Thor!” She put her hands on his shoulders and moved to sit astride him. He could feel the heat of her exposed sex through the cloth of his breeches and suddenly wanted desperately to be rid of them, but when he attacked the buckle of his belt, Emi caught his hands in hers. “Let me.”

She went to work on his clothes, unbuttoning his coat and pushing it back until it made another blanket beneath them, and then pulling his shirt up over his head. Emi paused for a while then, preferring to run her hands over the muscles of his torso for a while. She teased him by grinding herself against his crotch as she did so and it was only when he reached up to squeeze one of her breasts through the fabric of her blouse that her cruel teasing was brought to a blinking and giggling end. “I remember you blushing much more easily than this, Rand.”

“Ah, is that your game? Well you’ve already lost, Emi Aybara. Those rosy cheeks give you away.”

“Lies! I’m as composed as an Aes Sedai. We’ll just see who blushes first!” In a motion of practiced ease, she peeled her blouse off and tossed it carelessly aside. Emi knelt astride Rand, completely naked now. Her small breasts were tipped with pink nipples, which were already visibly stiff. Brown hair fell in a thick braid that she tossed back over her narrow shoulders, the better to give him a good look at her nakedness. She was girlishly slender, but the look in her eyes, when his stare travelled back up to her face, was as bold as that of any woman he’d ever met. He smiled in admiration, and she smiled back, unblushing. “Ha! Take that!”

“Famous last words,” Rand said. Taking her was, indeed, at the top of to-do list just then. He finished unbuckling his belt and began wiggling out of his breeches, an act made more than awkward by their current position, but the sight of Emi sitting there naked and smiling was all the motivation he needed.

Emi mock-yawned. “You’ll have to try harder than th— Ah ...!” Her eyes widened when he finally freed his achingly hard cock. “A-are they all ... Never mind.” She tossed her head and tried to compose herself before looking him in the eye again. “We’ll. Did I blush?”

She had, a little. But Rand decided not to mention it. “You win,” he said, and collapsed back onto the soft bed.

Emi crowed to herself over her victory, and shook her fists in the air. But she didn’t do it for long. She looked down at Rand and smirked, then touched the hot, wet lips of her pussy against his exposed cock, rubbing them along his length and sending shivers up his spine. She didn’t take him inside her, but it still felt wonderful. Rand had never been more happy to lose.

He gently caressed Emi’s bare skin, causing her to shiver, before she caught his hand in hers and interlaced their fingers together. Her other hand she rested upon his chest, to steady herself. Looking quite pleased with herself, Emi began to move her hips, rubbing the outside of their sexes together. Her breath hitched, but she moved again, and again, and again. She began to shudder atop him and her breath came faster. As her self-control wavered, Emi began to slip from her perch, the loss of the lower half of her legs making it difficult for her to balance herself in that position. Rand thoughtfully raised his legs, making a little saddle of his body for her to sit in as she rode him. The soft cheeks of her bottom pressed against his thighs enticingly. He greedily wanted to see what she looked like back there, but for now he was content to feast his eyes on the frontal half of her beauty.

Even when steadied, Emi moved erratically, going now fast, now slow, now pausing for what felt to Rand like an eternity, before rubbing herself against him once more. He wasn’t sure whether she was doing it toy with him, or if it was to make her feel better, but he well past caring. He hissed out his pleasure at one long passage of her lower lips along his shaft. The noise only seemed to drive Emi along. Unable to make himself lie still any longer, he began moving his hips in opposition to her, causing her modest breasts to bounce in time with his movements. She started breathing faster, eyes closed and lips reddened by her arousal.

Rand sat up on the bed, accidentally pushing his cock even harder against Emi’s sex, before capturing her lips with his. She kissed him back hungrily, but only for a moment. Gasping for air, Emi buried her fingers in his hair and began moving ever more frantically. She pushed her chest forward, keeping their chests in contact; the soft breasts he had crushed between them continued to brush against his skin, their taut nipples tracing symbols on the muscles of his chest.

Emi was definitely blushing now, but he doubted she cared about that any more. She slid herself along him faster and faster, panting heavily, moaning uncontrollably. Suddenly she began moving even more erratically, jerking and bucking in his lap as her moans began much higher-pitched than they had been.  _ She’s coming _ , Rand realised. The thought of sweet little Emi Aybara coming for him combined with the wild motion of her hot sex against his and brought him to a sudden orgasm.

He thrust against her desperately as his seed shot worth and was still spurting helplessly when he collapsed back onto the bed. His mind was so awash with pleasure that he had no room to spare for concern with the mess he was making of them both.

When Rand finally opened his eyes again, he found Emi staring down at him in wonder. For a few minutes, neither of them spoke. Their chests heaved from the experienced, and the sound of their breathing filled the room. He’d gotten some of his come on Emi’s breasts and belly, but her pretty face had been spared. She touched the sticky fluid with a shaky hand, biting her lip, very definitely red in the face now. She didn’t look very outraged or disgusted though, to his relief. “Hey, you came! I mean I figured you would, but still ...”

“With sights and sensations like that, it would be almost impossible not to,” Rand said between deep breaths. She smirked in response.

Emi eventually, reluctantly, shifted off of Rand and fell to the bed at his side. “So ... did I blush?” she asked.

“I was too entranced by how beautiful you look to notice,” Rand said. “Did I?”

She shrugged her girlish shoulders, still breathing a little heavily. “Didn’t notice either.”

The lay together in comfortable silence for a while, catching their breaths. But, with deathly inevitability, worry began to creep back into Rand’s thoughts. It took him a while to gather the nerve to speak again, and when he did it was in a grim tone all at odds with the joyful coupling they had just shared.

“Emi. I should tell you something. Something that perhaps I should have mentioned before we ... Well, before this.”

“Well, that sounds ominous,” she said after a pause.

“I won’t be staying in Emond’s Field. If and when we’ve dealt with the current crisis, I’ll be leaving again. I’m sorry if I misled you.”

“Pfft. Is that all? I thought you were going to tell me there was something embarrassing that I’d need to see the Wisdom about. Are you thinking I’m planning to marry you, Rand al’Thor? Just cause you have a big ... you know, is no reason to get a big head.”

He wasn’t as relieved by that as he might have been. “Good. Good. I, ah. I am very fond—more than fond!—of you. The last thing I’d want to do is hurt you. But there are ... complications. Things I need to do in the world outside. I just hope none of those things make it back here, to make any more trouble for you and the others.”

“That tells me a whole lot of nothing,” Emi said.

“So long as I’m still in Emond’s Field though, I’d like to come visit you again,” Rand said, dodging her implied question.

Emi grinned and laughed, and then nodded her assent. “You’d better! I’ll get angry if you don’t!”


	64. A Day in the Life

CHAPTER 61: A Day in the Life

Rand shivered with the cold and knew this for a dream. He was dimly aware of some shadowy memory of dreams preceding this, but this one he knew. He had been in this place before, on previous nights, and if he understood nothing of it, he still knew it for a dream.

Huge columns of polished redstone surrounded the open space where he stood, beneath a domed ceiling fifty paces or more above his head. He and Perrin between them could not have encircled one of those columns with their arms. The floor was paved with great slabs of pale grey stone, hard yet worn by countless generations of feet.

And centred beneath the dome was the reason why all those feet had come to this chamber. A sword, hanging hilt down in the air, apparently without support, seemingly where anyone could reach out and take it. It revolved slowly, as if some breath of air caught it. Yet it was not really a sword. It seemed made of glass, or perhaps crystal, blade and hilt and crossguard, catching such light as there was and shattering it into a thousand glitters and flashes.

_ Callandor _ . He was not certain whether the whisper came inside his head or out; it seemed to echo ’round the columns, as soft as the wind, everywhere at once, insistent.  _ Callandor. Who wields me wields destiny. Take me, and begin the final journey _ .

He was supposed to take that sword. It was part of the prophecies. One of the only parts he knew in even a small amount of detail. The Stone of Tear would never fall until the People of the Dragon came, and until the Sword That Is Not A Sword is wielded by the Dragon Reborn. How in the Light he was supposed to take a fortress that had repelled entire armies before was an utter mystery.

_ You shouldn’t be here, Shadowkiller. The wolf dream is dangerous now _ .

He spun around, searching the shadowed spaces between the great columns for the source of that almost familiar voice. It had sounded different from the first ghostly whisper. And it had addressed him by a name that he now knew was his own.

“Who are you? Show yourself!” Rand called, when his eyes failed to locate the speaker.

A pair of golden eyes gleamed in the darkness, coming slowly his way. When they emerged into the light, they proved to belong to a great brown wolf. It was a lean and hungry beast and something about its gait immediately struck Rand as being wrong. It walked on all fours, like any other wolf, but its legs were too long, enough to make it seem to be hunched over. Its raised and bushy tail was as brown as the rest of it, but the fur on its belly was a lighter shade of brown and there, too, was a strangeness that made Rand frown. The wolf’s chest was too heavy, almost as though there were, well, human breasts under the fur. Despite those oddities, its face was much like that of all the other wolves he had seen, though lean and delicate enough to make him think it young. Its muzzle creased as it sniffed at him, and its ears swivelled to catch any nearby sounds.

_ This is not good hunting ground, First. But the decision is yours _ .

The beast sat on its haunches and regarded him calmly. Slowly, Rand’s teeth inched back towards each other, until his jaw clicked shut. “Are you Raine Cinclare?” he asked, just as slowly.

_ I am Bane. And you are Shadowkiller _ .

He sighed, and after making a hasty examination of his own body, sighed again, this time in relief. He was himself. A red-haired human man in a long red coat.

“This place ... it changes with our thoughts, Raine. You should be careful. It’s made you look ... a bit odd.”

_ I know the wolf dream. We are all here, even when we should not be. I would like to wake now _ .

“Me too,” he muttered. “Where are you, by the way? In the real world, I mean. Has anyone seen to finding you a place to stay?”

The wolf that was a girl cocked her head at him.  _ I need no help in surviving. Shelter and food are always the most important things to any wolf _ .

“Okay, fine. But are you sleeping outside? I wondered about you. There’s plenty of room at the Winespring Inn if you haven’t found another place. Come by, I’ll speak to Mistress al’Vere for you.”

She hopped towards him.  _ Will you mate me then? _

Rand grimaced. “Light, Raine! No, that’s ... that’s not how I want ... Look, I like you. I do. But ...”

_ But I am a beast. A freak. I know. I have been trying to be better. I will keep trying _ .

“You’re not a freak,” Rand said weakly. He wanted to offer some comfort to the girl, given how obviously troubled she was, but it was hard to do that with an appropriate honesty when he felt so disconcerted by her strange and sudden obsession.

_ Aren’t I? _ she said, leaping towards him. Her voice—or the words that she somehow placed in his mind—sounded sad rather than angry, but Rand still shied away and tried vainly to ward off the furred woman’s pounce. Her warm bulk landed atop him and her jaws opened, long white teeth seeking his throat. Yelling, Rand pushed her away ... and woke in his bed in the Winespring Inn.

Early morning light was slanting in through the drawn curtains. As he blinked his eyes—and mind—into focus, a soft, warm figure stirred against him. For a brief moment, Rand was confused, not by the presence of someone else in his bed, but as to which of his lovers he’d slept with the night before. He had never in his life imagined that that would be a thing he needed to worry about keeping track of. As tasks went, it was far from onerous, though the danger of things getting out of hand was hard not to see. That aside, his confusion lasted only long enough to see the long, silky black hair that shielded the sleeping girl’s eyes from the morning sun. Saeri. That was right. She’d slipped into his room a good hour after he’d gone to bed, and boldly shook him from his slumber, claiming that she could not sleep. When he’d asked her what was wrong, she’d taken his hand in both of hers, and actually gone so far as to kiss the back of it, as though he were some princess in a story. “I have hungered for the taste of thy lips, beloved,” she’d said, in that overly dramatic way of hers. Rand hadn’t been about to disappointed her. She hadn’t been lying about her hunger either; even in his tired state, it had been easy to bring her to climax.

Rand wrapped his arm around Saeri’s shoulders and let himself doze a little longer. Normally he would have risen immediately, but with the rest of someone he cared about relying on his stillness, he felt compelled to stay. After a while though, he gently brushed her hair away from her face. Lan would be expecting him for their morning sparring session.

Saeri stirred when the sunlight touched her eyes, and a small frown creased the brows of her doll-like face. Grumbling, she tried to burrow in against him, and Rand seized his opportunity.

“What’s that? Saeri, are you awake?” he said, in a dishonestly-sleepy voice. “Oh, that time already? Thanks for waking me.”

Saeri raised her head and yawned expansively. “Huh? Whas time’sit?”

He eased himself out from under her naked body. “Time I was about my work, I’m afraid, much as I’d like to stay here with you.”

“Oh. Right.” She rubbed at her eyes, careless of the pretty little breasts she exposed to his eyes. “Work. I should be working, too.” Yawning again, Saeri seemed to realise where she was, and grew suddenly alarmed. “Oh! ‘Tis improper for me to be found in my Lord’s bed! Discretion is our watchword, truly. What shall we do?”

“If anyone asks just say you got up early and brought me a fresh basin of water to wash with,” Rand said with a shrug, as he went to attend to his morning ablutions in the cold water. Shaving was harder when the water was cold, but his razor was sharp, and it would hardly be the first time he’d shaven in such conditions.

As he attended to his morning ablutions, Saeri rose from the bed and retrieved her clothes from the floor of his bedroom. Rand challenged himself to focus on shaving, rather than watching the girl dress, and was secretly rather pleased with himself when he only got distracted enough to cut himself twice.

She’d latched the door when she let herself in, he was pleased to find, but he still frowned worriedly as he stepped out into the hall, dressed in his favourite red coat, freshly washed, with his sword and quiver hanging from his belt, and his unstrung bow held in one hand. What if Anna had come to visit last night? Or Bode, or Merile? Or Emi, for that matter, unlikely as that might seem. Marin and Tam were both sleeping in the inn as well. And Perrin, though his thoughts all seemed full of Zarine these days. Rand wasn’t completely sure which of his lovers knew about the others, or how they would react to finding out. He hadn’t made anyone any promises, and when asked he’d always been honest that fidelity wasn’t on the table. But such a topic wasn’t usually raised, not by him or by any of the people he slept with. It always felt awkward when he did raise it. Unnatural. Like they were negotiating a contract, with set terms, rather than coming to know each other in that wonderfully intimate way. But what if some of his lovers were assuming that fidelity was a part of their relationships, said or unsaid? They would likely be hurt and angry when they found out the truth. Should he sit down with them all and discuss it? Or maybe he was just worrying over nothing. Perrin and Anna very definitely knew about each other. And he had told Saeri the truth. Merile was  _ Tuatha’an _ , and they didn’t seem to consider promiscuity a big deal. Bode and Emi were the difficult ones. Theren women could be very proper, at least when they weren’t behind closed doors.

Despite his concerns, the common room and the kitchen were empty as he made his way out back where Lan awaited him. Their sparring session drew the eyes of some early risers, Dav and Elam among them, but Rand was focused entirely on the practice sword in his hands and the various ways it intersected with the matching one in Lan’s. As usual, he barely managed to touch Lan. But the Warder struck him much less often than he’d used to.

By the time they were done and had returned to the inn, the rest of the residents were up and about. Marin, Bran and their daughters were preparing breakfast, unhurried, despite the Winespring having far more guests than they were accustomed to.

“You’ve gotten pretty good at that dance, Rand,” said Elisa as she rolled some dough. He hadn’t known she’d been watching. “It would be a pretty thing if it wasn’t a tool of death.”

Lan didn’t react, but Rand rubbed the back of his own head uncomfortably. Elisa had always been a bit preachy, though her preachiness had more in common with the  _ Tuatha’an _ than the Whitecloaks. She had a good heart, and was a great one for big ideas, if not big realisations. Unfortunately, she sometimes had a bit of a big mouth, too; something she herself didn’t seem very aware of. Egwene had complained about her most out of all her sisters. He hoped she wasn’t looking for an argument.

“Ah, thanks Elisa. It’s like I told the Tinkers, though: peace is a dream we can’t afford while the Dark One is out there.”

“We can only trust in the Creator. Her love will see us through these dark days,” Elisa said, nodding sagely.

_ Where was Her love when Lews Therin Kinslayer was butchering his wife and children? _ Rand might have asked, but he held his tongue. If the Dragon—and now the Dragon Reborn—was all the Creator was willing to send to help defend humanity against the Shadow, then She couldn’t care overmuch about them, so far as Rand was concerned. At the very least, sending someone who wasn’t fated to go mad and break the world all over again would have been a welcome improvement.

He left the al’Veres to their work and made his way to the common room, where he found Min leafing idly through  _ The Travels of Jain Farstrider _ . Lan grunted softly at the sight of the book. Farstrider had been a Malkieri, just as Lan was, and Rand suddenly wondered if Lan had ever been lucky enough to meet him. Before he could ask, however, the Warder strode to the stairs, taking them two at a time. His footfalls barely sounded, even on the old wooden boards of the Winespring Inn.

“Have you read it before?” Rand asked Min as he took a seat at her table.

She smiled. “Of course. It’s one of my favourites.”

He matched her smile and doubled it. “Mine too! Though I have to admit, I had a hard time believing the Kigali part wasn’t made up. That just doesn’t sound like a place that could really exist.”

“Are you sure about that, sheepherder? Or is that just what you believed when you were ... um ...” Min’s cheeks coloured.

“A sheepherder?” he volunteered, grinning.

“Bah! You still are. I keep expecting to see straw in your hair every time I look around,” Min grouched, but her dark eyes were bright and warm, even as she said it, and Rand took no offense.

“Well, since a fancy city girl like you can’t help but be better read, maybe you could recommend some books to me. I’ll be honest, not too long ago this little library you see here seemed like the biggest collection of books in the world to me. I’d like to expand my selection.”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever been called fancy,” Min muttered to herself. “But ... he might like those ones. I might have to kick him if he didn’t, of course.”

They spent their morning chatting amiably about books, while sharing the breakfast that a smiling Marin brought them. While they did, Anna and Sara carried Emi downstairs between them, an indignity that the legless girl bore with cheer, joking about always having wanted to be carried about like a lady on her litter. Everyone smiled, but Rand didn’t think anyone was really fooled by her brave display. He made a mental note to make sure to visit her again today, as he had promised. Tam chose to eat alone, something which worried Rand and made Min look oddly shy. None of the Aes Sedai emerged from their rooms, and neither did Luc, which was a common occurrence, as the laden trays that the al’Vere sisters carried upstairs showed. Zarine and Perrin came down for their meal though, and no sooner had Perrin shown his face than Bran was asking him questions about the village defences. The former blackmith’s apprentice hadn’t even gotten a quarter of the way through his bread before Dannil Lewin and half a dozen other men were letting themselves into the inn and seeking him out. Zarine welcomed their inquiries much more than Perrin did.

“It must be hard, watching them all rally around Perrin like this,” Min said. She had her chin in her hand and was watching Rand, rather than the crowd around Perrin’s table.

“Why would that be hard?” Rand asked, confused by the question.

“Well ... You are what you are. And even if you weren’t, a lot of men would get their backs up at being ignored in favour of someone else, even a friend.”

Rand supposed that was true, though he couldn’t imagine doing it himself. He shrugged broadly. “Those men would be fools.”

The smile Min gave him then warmed him even more than the cup of Marin’s good tea that he’d been nursing.

The biggest drama of the morning occurred while Saeri and Luci were clearing the dishes away and Perrin was complaining about the way Jon al’Vere—Dav’s da, and Marin’s brother—was asking him whether to do things that he knew perfectly well needed doing, especially while standing in the very inn that he’d been raised in.

The drama, if drama you could call it, didn’t come from them though, but from the red-haired and golden-eyed girl who suddenly darted in through the front door, only to freeze in place after a couple of steps. Raine looked herself again, he was glad to see. It was hard to tell if she was embarrassed at his having seen her in her near-wolf state, given how bizarre her arrival was.

Everyone stared at her as she stood there silently, balanced on the balls of her feet, as though ready to fight or to run, depending on which was needed.

“Can I help you, child?” Marin said slowly. For once, even her motherly warmth was offset.

Rand drummed his fingers against the table thoughtfully, wondering if he should speak for Raine or let her introduce herself. The silence went on long enough to become awkward.

Just as he was about to volunteer an explanation, Perrin climbed to his feet with a sigh. “This isn’t a hostile territory, Raine. I’m sure Mistress al’Vere would be happy to let you stay here, if not in one of the rooms.”

“We are full up, I’m afraid,” Marin said, her familiar smile back in place. “For the first time in my memory, I don’t have a room to spare. But if you don’t mind sleeping on the floor, I have no shortage of blankets and pillows.”

Raine made as though to crouch, but then abruptly straightened her knees. She stared Marin in the eyes with a strange intentness. “Thank you for your kind hospitality, Mistress,” she said, with a stiff but heartfelt politeness.

“There’s a sofa in my room that might double for a spare bed,” Anna volunteered. “You could sleep on that if you like, Raine. I already know you don’t snore, thank the Light.”

Raine squirmed shyly before responding. “Thank you. That is ... I would like that. You are ... generous.”

Anna shook her head tolerantly. “What are friends for? Come join us.”

The wolfsister looked to Rand before moving from her spot. A sudden insight struck him. She was asking his permission. Why she would feel the need for such a thing was beyond him, but he knew immediately that he would not grant it. Not because he didn’t want her to befriend Anna, but because this business of her needing his permission to do something so simple offended him on a near-primal level. Instead, he looked her in the eyes challengingly and waited to see what she would do.

Raine cringed slightly at first, a low whine building in her throat, one that was echoed by the much angrier growl that Perrin didn’t seem to realise he was making. But then the girl seemed to come to a decision of some kind. She turned her face away from Rand and took a step towards Anna’s table. It was a hesitant step, but the one that followed it was more certain, and by the time she reached the other girls she was striding determinedly. Rand only half understood what was going on with her, but something about that display pleased him nonetheless.

“It’s not going to be just three, is it?” Min muttered glumly. “ ‘Just’? What am I saying?”

“That’s what I was thinking. Three what?”

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, her friendliness suddenly gone. “Never you mind.”

She didn’t seem to want to talk more, so now that he had a full stomach, Rand decided to go and scandalise his armsmen by doing some actual work. The defences still needed work, and the forest hadn’t been fully cleared back yet. And gathering supplies for so many people was an ever-ongoing need. He’d pitch in wherever he was needed. He and Tam left a sour looking Perrin to dole out orders to men he’d known all his life and stepped out into the fresh morning air. Rand had noticed how little Perrin cared for the way he commanded his people, and let them wait on him. It needled him a little, the idea that his old friend thought he was becoming some kind of stuck up layabout. A petty part of him was glad to see that shoe being fitted to Perrin’s hoof now.  _ Let’s see how he likes it. Maybe he’ll be less critical of me afterwards _ .

He and Tam weren’t alone, of course, when they went to join the lumber crew out at the edge of the Westwood. Geko insisted on coming, too, bringing Izana, Bartu and Nengar to watch Rand’s back. Urien brought half a dozen Aiel with him as well. The Aiel didn’t take up axes to work, and neither did one-armed Geko, for obvious reasons, but the other Shienarans joined Rand in his labours. He’d half expected Izana to try and talk him out of it—the man almost reminded him of Nangu at times—but he didn’t challenge Rand’s decision. Instead, he shed his coat and shirt, revealing a leanly muscular chest, and went to work with a will. Bartu and Nengar were more heavily built, but moved much slower, too; watching, Rand thought that Izana would actually get more done than either of them.

Rand and Tam worked in unison, alternating bites of their axes with a wordlessly smooth precision born of long years of teamwork—and other things.

They weren’t the only father and son pair among the lumber crew. Dannen Luhhan and Tief Ahan were working a tree not far from them, similarly shirtless and similarly coordinated. Tief was more muscular than Izana, but he took after his dead mother more than his father. In contrast, Dannen, like his sister Alsbet, was very big by Theren standards, being closer to Rand, or Haral Weyland in size. He was a little surprised to see Mishelle with them. She was a sickly girl of nine or ten, who rarely left the house, and given the presence of Trollocs in the woods, he would have expected her father and brother to want her to stay back in the village. But she sat on the stump of a days-fallen tree, pale and skinny and big-eyed, clutching a picnic basket and watching curiously.

As they worked, Rand asked Tam about Tear, and it soon emerged that his father was much more familiar with that nation than Rand had ever imagined, having fought in two protracted wars against them. Rand had heard that Tear was one of the few nations in Valgarda that wasn’t ruled by a matriarchy, and so immediately thought well of them, but Tam’s assessment was much less flattering. He supposed that was to be expected, given his history, but it still troubled him.  _ Callandor _ had been much in his thoughts of late, and  _ Callandor _ was held inside the Stone of Tear.

He hoped the Tairens weren’t as bad as the Whitecloaks, who it emerged Tam had also fought a war against, this time in Altara of all places. It irritated Rand that so many women thought him inherently inferior to them for being born male, but the way the Whitecloaks went on was even worse, no matter their opposition to the White Tower. Though at least Bornhald had proven open to reason with regards to cooperating in the face of the Trolloc threat. Moiraine had even had some minor words of praise for the old man when she’d returned to the inn after speaking to him the other day.

Other than Urien and Atswe, all of the Aiel who’d shadowed Rand were Maidens. The four of them stood around waggling their fingers at each other and occasionally laughing over nothing. He wasn’t the only man to look askance at their behaviour. Aiel had a reputation for strangeness and violence, and many of the Thereners looked as though they were regretting the distance between them and their bows each time one of the women burst out in random laughter. Even Urien and Atswe seemed taken aback by it, judging from the way they rolled their eyes at each other.

The sun was high in the sky when kinfolk began emerging from the village to call out to the workers that their dinners were ready.

At the first call, Mishelle hopped up to her feet and immediately began spreading a cloth on the tree stump she’d been sitting, turning it into a little dinner table. Master Luhhan set down his axe, wiped the sweat from his brow, and went to join his daughter.

The Maidens dispersed at the sound, as though it was a pre-arranged signal. Each of them gathered some of the discarded clothes that had been set aside by the working men, and carried them to their owners.

Pretty Aca approached Tam, whose grey hair belied the firmness of his body. Aiel faces were as hard to read as Lan’s, but Rand thought there something admiring in the way she was looking at his father. He wasn’t at all sure what he felt about that. Aca was of a height with Tam—though near Rand’s age—quick and athletic, with the palest shade of hair he’d ever seen. Tam’s brows quirked, but that aside, his bluff face showed no sign of surprise. She asked him about the Theren, claiming to know little of the wetlands, as she called them. Tam shared his knowledge with her with calm humility, and Aca listened attentively, smiling all the while.

Tuandha and Jec had mixed success in what Rand now suspected was a more than friendly gesture.

Tief looked surprised and uncertain at accepting his clothes from an Aiel woman. Or perhaps more at being approached by that particular woman. Tuandha’s grin pulled at her scar in a disturbing manner, one that caused Tief’s eyes to widen and his face to pale. He stammered his excuses and fled to his family, leaving the Maiden to stare after him, stony-faced.

Meanwhile, Jec approached Nengar, the most muscular of the Shienarans. She was taller than him, and Shienarans had a dark history with Aiel, but none of that stopped him from grinning at whatever the yellow-haired woman was whispering in his ear.

The last of the four, Renay, brought Bartu his coat and shirt, smiling in a way that lit up her freckled face, and got a dull-eyed stare in return. Izana thanked her politely and flickered a return smile when she offered him his bundle. Renay brought Rand his clothes as well, and he grinned as he thanked her. He thought her the nicest of the Maidens—though based on an admittedly brief acquaintance with them all. Renay was quite eye-catching, too. She was only a head shorter than him, willowy and flat-chested, with orange hair and kind grey eyes. Those eyes seemed a contradiction to Rand when matched with the array of deadly weapons that hung from the Maiden’s person. But for that, and how little he understood both the Aiel and his own connection to them, he might have considered thanking Renay more warmly than he did.

As it was, Renay didn’t seem offended by his relatively reserved greeting. “This is a very fine sept, Rand al’Thor,” she said as he dressed, heedless of the sweat he was soiling his shirt with. Only a year ago that shirt would have been finer than anything he’d ever worn, even on feastdays, but now he used it like any other work shirt. Still, he should have a bath before bed. Dirtying his shirt and dirtying Marin’s linens were entirely different things. “The land is far richer than anywhere in the Three-fold Land.”

That was what the Aiel called the Waste, Rand knew. “I’ve heard it said that only an Aiel could survive in the Waste. It must be a harsh place.”

Renay smiled proudly, though her words were humble. “I do not know if that is true. To me it is simply home. Few wetlanders are welcomed there. Perhaps they would learn to survive it, as we have, if we did not kill them so often. We must eat and drink and seek shelter from the sun, just as they do. If you really want to see a harsh land, you must visit the Termool. It lies to the south of my clan’s holdings. Not even Aiel venture into that trackless desert.”

“There are lots of different clans then? And I take it septs are something like villages?”

“Septs are septs. And there are thirteen clans. Including the clan that is not.” Renay looked as confused as Rand felt.

He blinked at her repeatedly. “That’s good to know.”

She nodded with a friendly smile. “I have noticed that wetlanders only use half of their names, Rand al’Thor, and that the second half is shared between close blood relations. When I asked Bodewhin Cauthon about your mother, she told me she had woken from the dream, and claimed that you and Tam al’Thor were the only people in the Theren clan that used ‘al’Thor’ as part of their names. Was she mistaken?”

Rand didn’t want to talk about his parents with her, or any Aiel. Not now and maybe not ever. But Renay was still smiling that friendly smile, and he couldn’t bring himself to be rude to her. “It’s just Tam and me. We have no other relatives,” he admitted.

She patted his shoulder comfortingly. “None in the Theren clan, perhaps.”

Friendly or not, that was venturing too close to talking about the dead woman on the mountain. Rand pulled away from Renay’s hand. “I think I’ll go see what delight Mistress al’Vere’s kitchen holds today,” he said with false cheer. “It was nice talking to you, Renay.”

“As you say, Rand al’Thor. Some other time, perhaps.”

Rand strode off towards the inn, leaving the others to follow or not as they pleased.

That Theren folk would gape at outsiders was almost a given. Rand had done plenty of it himself when he first left home. When you grew up seeing only buildings and clothes of the same styles, and people of the same colouring, it was hard not to stare when confronted with something new. But though there were still plenty of people who gaped at the Whitecloaks in their camp, it was not hard for Rand to spot the watchers Perrin had had set on them. Unaccustomed to deception, or to life-threatening danger, those men loitered too obviously on the edges of the camp, or started too intently at each abrupt movement of one of the Children within. Rand had no doubt Bornhald knew he was being watched, but didn’t think it would make too much of a difference. The man already knew they didn’t trust him any more than he trusted them. Proof of it wouldn’t be like to turn him violent, not unless it was rubbed in his face.

He hadn’t lied to Renay, and fully intended to seek out a good helping of Marin’s cooking—all that work had given him an appetite. But Bode intercepted him before he could reach the Winespring Inn, and the look on her face quickly steered Rand’s appetite in a different direction.

“Oh. Hey there, Rand. Fancy meeting you here,” she said in a bored and oh so disinterested voice, when they met in the middle of the street. “Bit dull today, isn’t it?”

He didn’t think so. There was plenty to do. But he also didn’t think she was saying what she was saying. “I’m a homeless vagrant now, Bode, without a job to my name.”

“Poor boy. I’m sure my mother would offer you work, old friend of the family that you are. But you’ll have to talk to her later. She and my da are out with the party bringing in supplies from the far pastures.” Bode kept her face smooth, but her dark eyes smiled at him.

“I’ll have to talk to her at her house when she gets back then,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “Thanks for the tip, Bodewhin. You’re such a good girl.”

That might have been pushing it a bit far, judging by the spots of colour that bloomed on Bode’s cheeks as she spun around and bustled off towards the Cauthon place. Rand watched her hips sway as she walked, his mind picturing the cheeks he knew she was smuggling under her plain brown skirts. His stomach growled, but he knew he’d be eating something other than food this afternoon.

He took a roundabout way to her house, the better to avoid the eyes of any gossip-prone villagers. He crossed the open field to the farmhouse without meeting anyone he knew, and found the door unlatched when he went to tap upon it. For caution’s sake, Rand called out for Mistress Cauthon or Master Candwin as he let himself in, but no-one responded until he hesitantly called out Bode’s name.

“In heerree!” she sang. He followed her giggles to a room he’d never been in before. He would have known it for her room based on the frilly and beribboned furnishings, and the collection of mementos on the dresser, even if Bode had not been lying naked on the narrow bed, with one arm resting in the hollow of her waist and a naughty smile on her face.

Bode’s braid coiled on her pillow, her round cheeks glowed, and she displayed her ample curves with a delicious confidence.

“Who knew the Cauthons were hiding so many treasures in their house?” he said, as he took off his coat.

She grinned. “Well why don’t you come over here and steal some then?”

He did just that. He ploughed Bode’s furrow until she screamed his name, then silenced her with his lips as he listened intently for the voices of any angry parents. Rand didn’t relax until a full minute had passed, and Bode took even longer. So he caressed her naked body, there on her childhood bed, and when she began rocking her hips against him once more, he began to plough her even harder. Her fleshy thighs clutched his hips, her nails raked his chest, and the wild swaying of her breasts entranced his eyes as he explored her sweet depths once more. Bode cried out his name a second time before he bottomed out and planted his seed in her fertile young womb.

“I could get used to this,” Rand sighed as he rolled off her.

“Me too,” Bode said, smiling a happy, red-cheeked, smile.

He lay there for a while, cuddling against her and debating the merits of eating today against the merits of asking Bode to turn over so he could taste that big, mouth-watering butt of hers again. But before he could decide, the sound of voices reached his ears. Rand couldn’t quite identify them, but Bode certainly could. She all but vaulted over him, scrambling from the bed like a deer that had just caught a wolf’s scent. Snatching her underwear from the floor, she frantically pulled them up over legs that were still slick with their mingled juices.

“Get dressed and go out the back way! Quick! My parents are coming!”

Rand did as she bid him, forgoing everything except boots, breeches and shirt. He could carry the rest, though it made for an awkward bundle with his sword, bow and quiver in amongst it. When he paused at the door of her room, Bode had her skirt back on and was shaking out her blouse. The motion, and her nerve-quickened breaths, did some eye-catching things to her breasts.

“If only they could see you like I do,” he sighed. She paused, eyes widening, at the sound of his voice. “Then they’d know what a beautiful, daring ... and irredeemably bad girl you are.”

Bode’s cheeks got even darker and she snatched one of her shoes from the floor. Laughing, Rand darted out of the room before she could fire. The sound of her shoe hitting the wooden door, and her hissed cry of, “Aye, you’d  _ better _ run, al’Thor!” chased him through the Cauthons’ place. Just as it had called him in, her giggling bid him farewell when he slipped out the back door and ran across the blessedly empty field.

After taking a moment to make himself look less suspicious, Rand headed back towards the inn. His stomach was rumbling loudly by then, so he avoided eye contact with everyone he passed. The food would probably be cold by now, if there was even any left. Braced for disappointment and prepared to beg, Rand stepping into the Winespring Inn and into the middle of an argument.

“The Lion Throne won’t accept it. It would set too poor a precedent,” Maigan said. Of the three Aes Sedai in the village, she was the one Rand liked least. Moiraine had always made a point of telling him that the Red Ajah were the most misandrist of the Aes Sedai and that the Blue Ajah opposed them, but Maigan was of the Blue Ajah, and she didn’t make the slightest attempt to hide how much contempt she had for every male around, even her own Warder. If those were the good Aes Sedai then he was even gladder that he’d avoided Elaida’s clutches, that time in Caemlyn. Then again, it might also be that Moiraine was misleading him, and the Red Ajah weren’t as bad—or as much of an outlier—as she liked to paint them.

“Good. We don’t need it. Things are fine the way they are,” Perrin said firmly. He was standing by the window with his arms crossed, frowning out at the people going about their daily tasks. Rand could tell he wanted to be out there with them.

Maigan ignored him. Perched in one of Marin’s tall chairs, she managed to look like a queen on her throne. Zarine perched in another, and seemed to be trying to imitate the Aes Sedai’s posturing, though she only managed to look like a lady sitting attendance.

Moiraine and Lan were there as well, but sat over the remains of their meals rather than taking part in the discussion. Moiraine caught Rand’s eye and made a low gesture with her hand, urging him not to get involved. He didn’t know how much control she had over the other two Aes Sedai, despite their seeming to defer to her, but she had told him plainly that neither knew he was the Dragon Reborn and that it must remain so.

“Not only might some lords get ideas above their birth, but some of the other outlying regions may start thinking of rebellion, should the Lion Throne look weak,” Maigan went on, just as though Perrin hadn’t spoken.

Zarine’s lips tightened. “It is true of all the nations these days. Even Saldaea’s borders are shrinking. My cousin the Queen said she had half a mind to lead an army along the border herself, to remind them all of who ruled them, and awe them with the royal person. Her words. Not mine.”

There weren’t many others in the common room, just Loise collecting used tableware, and Ho, Maigan’s whipcord-lean Warder, lurking by the door, looking as miserable as ever. Rand walked by them both, intending to take Moiraine’s advice for once.  _ Zarine’s cousin is a queen? Blood and ashes. No wonder she’s so full of herself _ .

“Half a mind. Indeed. Morgase has that much and more,” said Maigan. “She will see the problem and quickly move to correct it. If this nascent endeavour you have involved yourself in is to succeed, it would be wise if you, and not your ... companion, were the one to present it to her. Let him do what men are good at, while you, a noblewoman, command. Lady Faile Bashere of the Theren might be welcomed. ‘Lord’ Perrin the rebel would simply be hanged.”

Rand’s steps faltered at the kitchen door. Lady Faile Bashere of the Theren would certainly not be welcomed by him. Even seeing everyone knuckle their foreheads at “Lord Perrin” had been distasteful to him, not because he begrudged his friend their regard, but because he couldn’t understand why any Theren folk would want to go from picking their own leaders to being ruled by someone who just happened to be born into a certain family. It seemed like a step backward to him, but it was one that Emond’s Field seemed bizarrely eager to make. And now the Aes Sedai wanted to put Zarine in charge instead, because Perrin—a native of the region, but still a mere man—would be less acceptable than a Saldaean noblewoman.

“Faile could do it. She knows how to talk to nobles,” Perrin said. “That’s fine with me.” If he noticed how little Maigan cared for him voicing an opinion on the matter when she was plainly speaking to Zarine and not him, he showed no sign of it. And if he shared Rand’s worries about the direction the Theren was headed, he certainly didn’t show that either.

Shaking his head, Rand stalked the rest of the way into the kitchen. Min, Saeri and Luci were there, washing up under Marin’s supervision. Though at a second glance, the Mayor was paying no heed to them at all. She sat on a stool near the door, listening to the talk in her common room. She had no more than a waggled finger of greeting for Rand, so intent was she on what was being discussed. He wondered at her thoughts on the matter, but didn’t want to ask, since he feared her answer would be one he’d dislike.

Coatless and aproned, with her shirtsleeves rolled up and her arms elbow deep in soapy water, Min cut off what she had been saying to Saeri mid sentence at the sight of Rand. Her smile became an instant scowl, taking him aback.  _ What did I do? _

“Thy maids are working hard, my Lord,” Saeri piped.

_ Ah _ . “Two hard-working and much appreciated maids, and one completely independent woman who just happens to be helping out, Saeri,” he corrected blandly. If anything, Min’s scowl deepened.

As Loise carried the rest of the used dishes past him, Rand couldn’t help but notice the smile on her face. It brought out her strong cheekbones and made her eyes crinkle. She was usually such a solemn woman that he had to smile back. “Is there any hope of leftovers from dinner? My stomach’s trying to reach my spine.”

“Don’t worry. Mom saved some food for her favourite almost-son-in-law. She had me hide it in your room. We carted the bathtub in there as well. Not that I’m saying you smell or anything ...” she said, wrinkling her nose as she finished.

Rand mock-scowled. “And after all those times I wished she’d be more sociable, this is what I get when she finally speaks up. Nynaeve the Second.”

Loise’s eyes widened. “Hey! You take that back. I am nowhere near as bad as Nynaeve!” When he just grinned at her, she stalked off to deliver her tray of dishes to the washers. “And there I was about to tell him I thought Maigan and Faile were full of it, too. Serves me right for being sympathetic to Cenn Buie the Third over there.”

“Oooh, that’s a low blow, Loise!” Rand gasped.

Marin laughed softly. “The tray was hot and covered when I left it upstairs, Rand, but it will be getting cold. Quiet down, and go eat your dinner, there’s a good boy. I’m trying to think.”

She was trying to eavesdrop is what she was trying to do, but Rand had no intention of pointing that out. With a last scowl Loise’s way, he stepped back into the common room and headed for the stairs. Perrin had left for parts unknown, but Maigan and Zarine were still talking.

“If matters between you and Aybara proceed as they seem to be proceeding, you will have little difficulty keeping these peasants in line, even as a foreigner,” Maigan told her. He couldn’t tell what Zarine was making of the Aes Sedai’s advice, but he knew he didn’t like the way things were going. Should he interfere? How? If Perrin would come to his senses, forget about Zarine, and marry a nice girl like Anna, they would all be better off, so far as Rand was concerned. But he had exactly zero say in who Perrin chose to involve himself with.

The tray was just as Marin and Loise had told him it would be. Rand fell upon its contents with a ravenous hunger that the Aes Sedai’s meddling had distracted him from. In no time at all, every last scrap of food was gone, and the accompanying pitcher of milk was down to its last half a cup’s worth. He considered the bath. Loise had been mostly teasing him about the smell, but only mostly. He could definitely use a wash. There was a room with its own hearth dedicated exclusively to heating buckets of water for the tub, and if Rand knew Marin al’Vere at all, she would have that fire good and hot, having had the bath brought out. She was always well organised like that.

Sure enough, the buckets were in place and the fire was crackling away when Rand went to check. He hauled the buckets into his room two at a time, and poured all but one of them into the copper tub. The last he set down beside it, for rinsing.

He gathered the soap and washcloths, stripped to his skin, climbed into the hot water, and gave himself a thorough scrubbing. He was done long before the water got cool, but Rand sat there for a while longer, just enjoying the feel of the heat seeping into his bones. Better that than the taint seeping into ... No. There was no point dwelling on that. Not now. He tried to make himself relax.

His eyes snapped open at the rattling of the latch on his door. Instinctually, he sought the void and found  _ saidin _ within it; some distant part of him was disturbed that such a thing had become instinct now, but the larger part of him was ready to strike should the intruder prove an enemy.

Marin al’Vere slipped into his room with some towels draped over her arm. She glanced down the hallway before shutting and locking the door behind her. Rand released  _ saidin _ , but an entirely new kind of tension replaced his alarm.

Loise got her smile from her mother, Rand realised, when she presented the burden to him. “I brought you some towels. I can’t have you tracking water all over my floors.”

Rand glanced at the bundle of towels on the floor at his side, then met Marin’s eyes, smiling back. “Thanks, Marin. That’s very kind of you. I was hoping you’d come help me with that.”

She laughed softly and came to stand over him, openly examining his nakedness. He sat with his knees raised in the somewhat cramped tub, with cloudy water covering him from the belly button down. Marin was a slender woman. He thought she might fit, and bit his lip softly as he considered the possibilities. “Such a pretty boy,” she said softly.

“I like looking at you, too,” Rand said honestly. “Could you show me yourself? Please?”

She had to have known what she was doing when she came here, but Marin still blushed slightly at his words. Still, the hands that began untying the laces on her dress did not shake in the slightest, and the Mayor did not look at all shy about exposing her body to his gaze, despite being three times his age. Nor should she have. Her small breasts drooped only slightly, and though there were stretch marks upon it, her stomach was still as flat as could be. There was a lot of grey mixed in with the brown of her hair, and her skin was not as smooth or unlined as a girl’s might be, but she was still a beautiful woman in Rand’s eyes. He had stiffened to readiness long before she let her bloomers fall down her slender legs.

Rand held out his arms to her and Marin stepped into them without hesitation. She bent to kiss his lips, and as he savoured that feeling, Rand let his hand seek out her thigh. He worked his way gently and slowly towards her slit, but when he dared to test her readiness with his finger he found Marin already sopping wet.

“Already?” Rand blurted in surprise.

Marin boxed his ear, but the blow was no more than a gentle tap, and she smiled as she did it. “Times like these, with danger and change in the air, are enough to get anyone’s blood running hot.”

“Even yours? You don’t show it. You always seem so calm and in control.”

She seemed pleased by that. “Well, I am the Mayor, dear.”

“You are that.” Rand picked the Mayor up by her hips and moved her over the tub in which he sat. She was light enough that he had no difficulty holding her aloft. She laughed softly and raised her legs, allowing Rand to manoeuvre her into position. When he brought her down into his water-shrouded lap, Marin’s knees came to rest on either rim of the tub. She steadied herself with her arms around his neck, but in that position she could do little but trust to him to move her. Rand was suddenly reminded of their last tryst, and the things she had let him do to her. He moved both their hips into position, and when he was satisfied, brought Marin down onto his cock.

They both groaned in satisfaction as Marin’s pussy slid down over Rand’s cock. He angled himself carefully, and then started moving her up and down, rubbing her heat along his length while he sat in water that suddenly seemed tepid in comparison.

He watched her lined face as they coupled, enjoying the pleasure he saw there. He liked the way her nipples stiffened, too, and would have sucked on them if they were in bed. But in their current position, he had to content himself with looking.

“I don’t see why we need ladies, or lords, in the Theren,” Rand said between soft grunts. “Not when we already have Mayors. You could do everything she could do. More even.”

“It’s sweet you think so, Rand. But I didn’t gather the people here, or convinced the Whitecloaks to relent. Faile and Perrin did that. It’s only natural that people would look to them now,” Marin whispered shakily.

“If you say so. But what about the future? Will their children rule the Theren after them? Their grandchildren, and great-grandchildren? That’s not the way we do things here.”

Marin bit her lip and a frown creased her brows. “I don’t know,” she confessed as he bounced her in his lap. “I hope not.” The way her nails dug into his shoulders let him know she was close.

“So do I,” Rand grunted. He lifted Marin higher than he been, bringing her glistening wet hips clear of the water and slipping his cock all the way out of her pussy. Then changed the position of his hips under the water and brought her back down again. Stretched from the way she was sitting, and wet from the soapy water, Marin’s ass parted to receive Rand’s cock at the very first attempt.

Her dark eyes snapped open, wide enough to show the whites all around. He never found out if she would have objected to his taking the initiative like that, for her surprise was almost immediately drowned by a powerful orgasm as she felt his entire length penetrate her bowels. Marin kicked her legs helplessly against the sides of the tub as she came. Her mouth hung open and her eyes rolled back in her head. Confronted by such a sight, Rand was overcome with lust and immediately began rubbing the woman’s butt up and down his cock, heedless of any discomfort she might be feeling. Marin’s gasped breaths came in time with his own, and it wasn’t long before Rand found himself groaning her name as he came inside her tight old ass.

He’d thought himself pleasantly relaxed before she found him in his bath, but that had been nothing next to the peaceful lassitude that washed over him in the aftermath of his orgasm. Once again he lazed in the bath, but this time Marin al’Vere’s sweet ass was cradling his cock, and the sound of her heavy breathing was threatening to lull him off to sleep.

“Rand. Rand? Rand!?” Marin’s soft but insistent voice forced him to open his eyes. She had her arms folded under her breasts and was regarding him sternly.

“I like your nipples,” he said with sleepy honesty.

Marin’s sudden laughter spoiled her game attempt at a matronly pose. “That’s nice, dear. But so does my husband, and since I can’t get out of this bath without your help ...”

Rand blinked himself back into some semblance of awareness. “Oh. Right. Sorry about that.”

He took Marin by the hips once more, sucked in a deep breath, and lifted her up, enjoying once more the feel of her body sliding along his softening manhood. He had to be careful about moving her, for fear of oversetting the tub, but he was able to place her feet safely on the floor once more. She bent to gather a towel to dry herself with, and winced slightly as she did so.

Straightening, Marin rubbed at her bottom. “You like that, I take it?”

Rand nodded happily. “Do you?”

She raised her brows at him. “Now that is one question I am never, ever going to answer.”

He stretched his arms high above his head. “Well, thank you indulging me, either way. I always enjoy these chances to be intimate with you, Marin. You’re a beautiful woman. Hopefully, the next time will come soon.”

She tossed the towel aside and began getting dressed. “Assuming this isn’t the last time.”

Rand grinned. “Yes. Assuming that.”

That soft laugh came once more. “And you used to be such a shy boy, too.”

“I can’t imagine who might have taught me different,” he drawled as she pulled her dress down over her head, hiding her body from his view.

Before she left, Marin paused by the door with a thoughtful look on her face. “You aren’t wrong about the future, either,” she said softly. She looked back at him in silence for a moment, then spoke in an oddly solemn voice. “Perhaps I shouldn’t say it. My mother certainly wouldn’t have. But ... You’ve become a very impressive young man, Rand. If I had any part in making you so, then I’m glad. I’m ... actually quite proud of you, son.”

Rand found himself blinking back tears, unaccountably moved by her words. “That means a lot, Marin. Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

Her bright smile woke the lines at the corners of her eyes. Without another word, Marin let herself out, leaving Rand alone with his thoughts. Thoughts which were now much lighter than he had become used to them being.

When Rand returned to the common room, Marin was nowhere to be seen, and neither were Maigan and Zarine. Moiraine and Lan were still there though, and Tam had joined them at the table. Their voices were so low that he only started picking up their words when he drew close enough to touch them.

“How many others know what he is? And how many of those are likely to be hostile?” Tam was saying.

Moiraine didn’t look pleased that Tam knew about Rand being the Dragon Reborn. She shot a brief look of annoyance at Rand before answering Tam’s question. “If I had my way no-one outside our immediate circle would know of Rand’s destiny. Perhaps you could prevail upon your son to be more cautious.”

_ Did she think I wouldn’t tell my father? _ “I’m as cautious as I can be,” Rand grouched. “I’d sit around in a tent in the mountains if I could, safely far away from anyone I might hurt. But that wouldn’t do much to stop the Shadow from burning Emond’s Field, now would it?”

“I can’t help but notice you didn’t answer either of my questions, Moiraine Sedai,” Tam said calmly.

“Nor will I, Master al’Thor. Aes Sedai are not questioned. I would have thought a man of your experience would have learned that already.”

Tam nodded thoughtfully. “As you say, Aes Sedai. I’ll have a private word with Rand later. Perhaps afterward, neither of us will bother you with questions anymore.”

Rand opened his mouth to object but the look in Tam’s eyes stilled his tongue. Not angry, not worried, just firm. He’d wait to hear what Tam had to say before committing, but he couldn’t help but feel that asking less questions of Moiraine was the opposite of what he needed. Instead, he needed a way to get her to actually answer him for once.

“There is something I have been curious about for some time,” Lan said. The Warder was a man of few words, so all heads turned towards him at the sound of his voice. “How is it that you came to acquire a blade as fine as the one Rand once carried, al’Thor? Both heron-marked and power-wrought? Either one is rare, both together are rarer still.”

Tam sighed. “It’s not that much of a tale. It belonged to a man who dreamed of being a king. Even if it meant sacrificing his honour, or the lives of innocents. I stopped him.” He gave a heavy shrug. “Queen Matia gave the sword to me afterwards.”

Rand wondered at his own lack of reaction to finally hearing that tale. If Tam had told him something like that a year ago he would have been shocked. Awed even. Now, it was just like watching one of Master Weyland’s blacksmith puzzle’s being solved. A well done thing, worthy of brief applause, before they got on with their work.

“And the would-be king?” Lan asked.

“I’m sure his family mourned him. But no other Illianers did.”

“Was the blade ceremonial to him, or had he earned the right to display the heron?”

The lines on Tam’s face looked particularly heavy when he smiled. “Both. It was a sword that had been in his family for generations, but he had won a blademaster’s mark before his mother ever allowed him to carry it. But if you are asking how good I am with a sword, Warder, the answer is simple. I was accounted a blademaster, for whatever that is worth. But I never thought myself that great to begin with, and until last year I hadn’t even touched a sword for almost two decades. I’ve no doubt you could kill me easily, if you’d a mind to.”

“Lan wouldn’t do that,” Rand said firmly. The very thought was horrible. Not only would Tam be dead, but Rand would have to kill Lan for it. And not with a sword.

The Warder showed an open hand, palm up. “It was merely a curiosity. I thank you for satisfying it.”

“You’re very welcome. Rand? We should be getting on. Let’s leave the Aes Sedai to her business.” Tam got to his feet and walked out the door, and Rand soon followed him.

His father did not speak again until they were well away from the Winespring Inn. They were trailed of course. Han and Katsui for the Shienarans this time, Aca and Cad for the Aiel. Tam examined all four with a hint of suspicion before finally breaking his silence. “She will tell you nothing that does not directly steer you towards the path she has chosen for you. And she will try to remove anything, or anyone, who threatens to offer you an alternative. Rianna Sedai was the same, before Queen Matia got so tired of her that she requested a new advisor from the Tower. Be wary of her, lad. She may be an enemy of the Shadow, but the same can be said of Bornhald. That does not make either of them your ally.”

“I know. I don’t trust her, but that doesn’t mean I don’t need her.”

There was a drawn out silence before Tam spoke again. “I’ll do what I can to help you need her less. But I fear it will be little enough. I was just a soldier.”

Rand smiled. “A soldier that a Queen gave a magic sword to. They make stories of that sort of thing.” Tam waved that off, looking as close to uncomfortable as Rand had seen him in years. “But then, most of those stories are a load of old nonsense, I’m coming to see. I’m be glad of any help you can offer me, father.”

They spent the rest of the day talking about the world outside the Theren, from Tear and Illian, to Andor and Amadicia. They spoke of soldiers and nobles and merchants and how they all interacted. For the first time ever, Rand heard Tam speak the name of Kari’s family. The Garrigels. They were Andoran merchants, and wealthy enough to have shops and warehouses in many different nations, including Illian, where Tam had met her. His father was obviously reluctant to speak of it, so Rand offered to drop the subject, but Tam insisted that it was something he should know about. There was pain in his voice when he spoke of how the Garrigels had disowned Kari over her marriage to him. Some merchants were even richer than the nobles that ruled them, and many resented the way their social status remained lower than people who were poorer than they were. Those ones were the most likely to look down on their fellow commoners. Astara Garrigel had hated the very idea of her heir marrying a soldier; she’d hoped to arrange a marriage for Kari with an impoverished nobleman instead. But Kari hadn’t shared her mother’s attitude or ambitions.

“You know how that worked out, lad,” Tam said bitterly. “She ended up in an early grave.”

They were sat together on a wooden bench outside the Padwhin’s place by then. It felt strange to do it, but Rand placed a hand on his father’s shoulder and squeezed lightly, trying to offer comfort. “It was a fever, da. A sickness like that could have got her anywhere. It wasn’t your fault. And I don’t remember her ever saying or doing something that would make me think she regretted her decision.”

“I hope that’s true. Light, but I do.”

The sun was touching the horizon by then, but Tam didn’t want to head back with Rand, preferring to have some time alone with his thoughts. Rand had a few thoughts of his own, as he wandered back to the inn.  _ Rand Garrigel. Merchant _ . Would they have lived in Illian or Andor? It didn’t sound like something he would have liked, but he couldn’t help but wonder how things might have turned out for them all if Kari’s mother hadn’t been such a snob. Looking around at the humble homes that made up Emond’s Field, Rand found that he was glad that Kari’s mother had done what she had done, selfish though he knew the thought to be. He wouldn’t have wanted to lose all of the people he had known here.

There was vegetable soup for supper. Rand ate with Perrin, and filled him in on their progress at pushing back the woods. He was secretly amused by his friend’s sour look, and made a point of relating all the things he had seen people doing out in the village while Perrin was stuck with his lordly duties.

Raine proved perfectly capable of eating at table, for all that she labelled herself a beast. Merile escaped the Aes Sedai’s clutches long enough to share a meal with her. The  _ Tuatha’an _ looked troubled to Rand’s eyes, but when he asked her about it, she just said she had a sore head. Apparently, the Aes Sedai had been teaching her to sense  _ saidar _ , so that she didn’t kill herself with it. He recalled how strange he had felt after first touching  _ saidin _ . He hadn’t known what was happening to him at the time, but it had felt pretty terrible. And if Moiraine was to be believed, it was entirely possible that it might have proven fatal, too. If Merile’s experience was anything like that, then he could only sympathise, and hope the Aes Sedai were able to guide her through it.

When Sara came downstairs with two empty bowls in her hands, Rand was reminded of his promise to visit Emi. He waited to see if Sara would return to her, but she got pulled into a conversation with Anna, Min and Loise, so he seized the moment and headed upstairs.

“W-who’s there?” Emi called, when he tapped on her door; and at his answer, added, “Rand? Come on in!”

She was sitting up in her bed, wearing a white nightdress and a knowing smile, when he let himself in. Her hair was loose of her braid, something which—on a Theren woman—should have made her look girlish. But somehow Emi didn’t seem very girlish to him.

“You know Rand, it’s not polite to stare,” she said confidently.

“Sorry. You’re a hard woman not to stare at.”

Her smile became a grin. “So ... what brings you here?”

He hooked the leg of the stool by her dresser with his foot and dragged it over to her bedside. “I promised I’d come visit you, didn’t I? I always keep my promises,” he said, taking a seat. “Or whenever I can, at least.”

“What you meant to say was that you were so awed by my kisses that you couldn’t stop thinking about me, right?”

“Ah, exactly, Emi!” he hastened to correct himself. “Those lips ... both sets. Unforgettable!”

Emi’s confident expression slipped and a blush coloured her cheeks. “Y-yeah, I guess so. Um. So how was your day?”

“Just fine,” he said, then proceeded to fill her in. She was probably feeling isolated and frustrated, what with her mobility being so restricted now, so he told her all he’d seen of the town outside. But as he spoke Rand was struck by how much of what he’d done needed to be kept secret, for one reason or another. His relations with Saeri, Bode and Marin were for them to reveal if they chose, not him. Tam’s past was not a subject to be gossiped about. And anything related to the Dragon Reborn was to be kept in the strictest secrecy. He told her what he could, but it seemed too little to him.

“There has to be some way we can get you out and about,” he added thoughtfully, once he’d run out of tales to tell.

“Stop. Don’t look at me like that,” Emi said firmly. She shifted on the bed, seized the hem of her nightdress, and yanked it up over her head. “Look at me the way you were before, instead.”

That proved a very easy demand to meet, for she was completely naked underneath. Her small, pert breasts drew his eyes and, before he knew he had moved, he had one in his hand. Emi didn’t push him away, instead she placed a hand atop his, urging him to squeeze harder. Her stiffening nipple brushed against his branded palm and she let out a sweet little moan.

“How did your hands get hurt like that?” she asked.

“Fire. The sword Tam gave me got so hot I couldn’t hold it,” he answered, with at least a little honesty.

Emi didn’t really seem that interested in the details though. “Poor boy. Take off your clothes, and I’ll help you feel better,” she whispered.

It had been a long day, but with Emi looking and speaking the way she was, Rand found he had at least one more round in him. He leant in to kiss her briefly, before standing up and stripping off. Emi wasn’t shy about watching, or about complimenting him about his musculature. By the time Rand was down to his skin, he half suspected he might be blushing.

Emi parted the sheets of her bed to let him climb in with her, and then parted the stumps of her legs as well, inviting him to be in her. Rand was eager to put himself between her thighs, and even more eager to taste her sweetness, but he paused and looked into her dark eyes.

“Emi. Can I put it inside you, this time?”

She bit her lip before responding. “Yes. I want to feel you in me,” she whispered.

Rand positioned himself carefully, not sure if she was a virgin, but suspecting it. When the bulbous tip of his manhood pressed against her flower, Emi gasped, and when she felt him pushing past her slick folds, she set her teeth, a little frown creasing the brows of her pretty face. He kissed her lips softly, and brushed his fingers through her hair as he slowly eased himself inside her body. Her sex was very tight but Rand didn’t stop his advance until he heard a sharp, pained sound issue from her lips, and felt a hard obstruction touch against his tip. At that, he eased off, and spent several sweet minutes kissing and fondling the girl beneath him.

Emi kissed him back, even in the midst of her pain, and after a while she began caressing his body just as he did hers. But it wasn’t until she started rocking her hips, causing his still cock to rub against her insides, that Rand began to move once more.

He tested her with a long, deep stroke but Emi winced in response. “Not so fast!”

“Whatever you wish, sweet heart,” he whispered, after planted a kiss on her soft cheek.

He built towards it slowly after that, moving shallowly inside her, his hands roving all over her slender body, brushing her soft breasts and her taut bottom. The sheets fell away as they coupled, pushed down by the way Emi’s knees waved in the air on either side of Rand’s thrusting hips.

“Light! It feels so good!” Emi gasped after a while. Her short nails were digging into Rand’s buttocks encouragingly and he took that as a sign to increase his pace.

The little moans that decorated each gasp of her breath told him he’d made the right decision. He smiled down at Emi as he fucked her in earnest. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her cheeks flushed, her hair darkened by her sweat. She looked beautiful to him. And being in her felt just as great as he’d hoped it would.

“Almost there, Rand!” she cried suddenly.

“Good. Come for me, Emi,” he breathed.

When she opened her eyes and found him staring at her face, Emi’s cheeks flushed even darker. He felt her body clamp down upon his cock, just before it started fluttering all around him. Emi tried to look away, but Rand held her face between his palms, wanting to watch the play of expressions across it as she orgasmed. She ended up looking him in the eyes until her pleasure had run its course, at which point she lay limply on the bed, moaning softly.

“You’re beautiful, Emi,” he told her, grinning.

Her eyes had drifted closed by then, but she smiled at his compliment.

Rand started moving again, seeking his own pleasure in her sweet embrace. He knew it wouldn’t take him long to find it. Sure enough, within a few more minutes of tasting Emi’s body, he felt a familiar and welcome pressure build within him.

“Emi, I’m coming,” he whispered.

She raised her head from the pillow, blinking in sudden alarm. “Wait! Not inside, Rand. I don’t—They burnt all my supplies. I—”

Heartleaf. Drinking a tea brewed from that weed prevented pregnancies for a day, whether it was consumed before or after sex. All women in Valgarda knew that, though many seemed to think the men were unaware of the weed’s existence for some reason. “I understand,” Rand gritted. He pulled himself out of Emi’s body immediately, not wanting to risk an accident.

He would have used his hand to finish things, but Emi bit her lip and pushed him onto his back on her bed. “Um. Lie still. I ... Let me try something,” she said, sounding as close to shy as she ever seemed to these days.

Emi scooted down the bed until her head was level with Rand’s waist. He felt her small hands wrap around his slick shaft, and not long after a wet tongue darted out to test the taste of their mingled juices. Her hot breath teased him maddeningly, but Rand took a firm grip on the bedsheets and refused to let himself move. He couldn’t stop himself from groaning though, when Emi’s mouth closed around the head of his cock. From where he lay, he could see her pretty little bottom and her slender back, but her expression was hidden from him. All he could see was her dark hair, as her head began bobbing up and down.

Rand placed little value on technique or experience, the way some of the soldiers he’d heard speak of such things seemed to. Far more pleasurable to him was that fact that it was Emi Aybara who willingly sought to pleasure him in such a way. Her boldness and her care more than made up for any hesitancy in the way she touched him, or the fact that she only took the first few inches into her mouth. In no time at all, he felt himself twitching on the verge of orgasm. He tried to warn her, but only managed to groan her name before his come flooded her mouth.

There was a muffled exclamation of surprise, but Emi didn’t remove her lips from Rand’s cock when she noticed him coming. He could feel the inside of her mouth moving, as she tried to swallow all he had to offer her. It felt incredible.

This time it was Rand’s eyes that drifted closed. They remained so until he felt Emi’s warm body brushing against his. When he looked up at her, she was wiping her lips on the blanket. Once satisfied, she pulled it up over them and nestled in against his side.

Rand wondered if he should get up and return to his own room, but it felt so nice, lying there like that, with her. And sleep was just waiting for him to let his drift shut again.

“So that’s what all the fuss is about,” Emi mused softly. “Makes sense now.” She rested her head on his chest, and let himself be trapped by that weight. Was a prison still a prison, when it was full of pleasure and beauty?


	65. A Death in the Night

CHAPTER 62: A Death in the Night

The Winespring Water sparkled even in the moonlight. Rand leant on the railing of the Wagon Bridge and listened to the water trickle by. He felt at peace here. Emond’s Field was empty at this hour, but no shadows hid the houses from his sight. Everything was illumined by a strange light. A sourceless light. It should have been coming from torches and lanterns, but he couldn’t see any along the streets. There were Myrddraal about, and Perrin knew they had to prevent any deep shadows from forming. A small candle was kept burning in every bedroom now. The low light given off by one had still been pestering Rand’s eyes when he fell asleep.

With that thought, awareness came upon Rand and he realised he was once more in the dream world, or  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ , as Elayne had named it. “Blood and Ashes!” he cursed, scowling around at the not-quite-right reflection of Emond’s field. “I wish I could turn these bloody dreams on or off when I wanted.”

His real body was probably still in bed with Emi. He wondered if he could make himself return to it if he went to the dream version of her room, so, for lack of anything else to do, he made his way to the Winespring Inn.

There were no people in the inn either, but some signs of their presence taunted him. Here a book flickered from closed to open in the space of a blink. There a coat that he thought belonged to Bran was draped over the back of a chair, but when he turned back after peering into the empty kitchen, the coat was gone. And always there was that feeling of unseen eyes watching him. It reminded him of Shadar Logoth. And that time in Fal Dara when he could have sworn someone invisible was following him. He hoped it wasn’t a sign of the madness starting to affect him, but how was he to know if it was? Did madmen ever know that they were mad?

He met Lan on the stairwell, coming down just as Rand was starting up, and had already politely moved to the side so they could pass one another before the man’s unlikely presence in this place struck him. Shock was compounded by shock when they gaped at each other.  _ Lan doesn’t gape. Who the—!? _

Even on closer inspection, the imposter looked enough like Lan to be his brother. They were the same height, though this man was somewhat leaner. They wore their hair the same way, though Lan’s had wings of grey, and this man’s was still jet black. Their eyes were the same cold blue, but this particular set stared at Rand with more emotion than Lan ever displayed: surprise, followed quickly by murderous rage.

“What are you going here!? This place is not for you! So many intruders in my kingdom lately! The Chosen I can do nothing about, but you others I should be able to gut as I please.”

Rand could have sworn his sword had not hung at his hip when he was strolling through the moonlit streets of Emond’s Field, but when he reached for it now, his hand closed upon the long hilt. He hopped clear of the stairs and drew his blade, ready.

“Tch. I said ‘should’, boy. Ba’alzamon forbade it. You are not my target today. Be thankful. You just get to watch.”

“Darkfriend!” Rand spat. “Who are you? You look like a Malkieri.”

The man’s laugh had a harsh, grating sound to it. “A Malkieri? Me? No, I’m the First Prince of the Sword of bloody Andor,” he said mockingly as he came the rest of the way down the stairs.

“So you aren’t allowed to kill me.” Rand snorted. “If you’re imagining some misguided sense of fair play will stop me from killing you anyway, Darkfriend, then you are a fool!” So saying, Rand slashed at the man’s neck, intending to behead him there and then.

He liked to think that his bladework had grown quick, but the Darkfriend moved faster than his eyes could follow. One moment he was standing there, an unfamiliar smirk on his too-familiar face, and the next he was at the other side of the room. A chill ran up Rand’s spine. He pictured the flame in his mind and hastily stuffed his fear into its inferno. The void surrounded him and he seized  _ saidin _ . Whatever this man was, he was not someone to be taken lightly, and Rand had no intention of dying here. He’d use every dirty trick that the One Power afforded him to prevent that.

“It could just be a coincidence. And if it isn’t, does it even matter? Not to me, that’s for sure.” The Darkfriend’s rambling was interrupted by another sudden burst of laughter. “But it might add a little spice to the hunt. I know I will enjoy killing the other one.”

“No, you won’t,” Rand said in an emotionless voice. He raised his hand, Fire flowing through him as easily as the blood in his veins, but before he could spin it into the Darkfriend’s death, he had disappeared. He didn’t leave. He just wasn’t there anymore. Rand spun in place, sword held low, but the anticipated attack didn’t come.  _ This damned place. If I can’t understand it, then I’d at least like to know how to stop myself from ever coming here again _ .

As was sometimes the case in the dream world, wishing for a thing to be made it happen. Rand opened his eyes in a comfy room at the Winespring Inn. The candle still flickered protectively in its corner, warding their sleep against the Shadowmen, and a naked Emi slept against his side.

_ Who was that man? And what was he doing in Tel’aran’rhiod? And more specifically, what was he doing in the Tel’aran’rhiod version of the Winespring Inn? He looked surprised to see me, so I doubt he came here looking for me _ .

Emi stirred in her sleep, muttering something, and he absentmindedly stroked her shoulder.

Raine had warned him against visiting the “wolf dream” as she called it. Rand resolved to talk to her, and to Perrin, tomorrow, and see if they knew anything more about that man.

“Dada! Mama!” Emi choked.

Surprised, he craned his neck to see her face. There were tears leaking from her closed eyes, and she was curling in upon herself protectively. She was still asleep, he decided. She grieved in her dreams, the way she wouldn’t let anyone see her grieve in life. Rand carefully squeezed her against him, stroking her shoulder, offering what little comfort he could. He lay still and silent by her side, not wanting to wake her just then.

The sounds of distant voices didn’t disturb him. Emond’s Field never truly slept these days, there were always sentries, working in shifts. Emi proved a light sleeper though, for she started at the first raised voice, eyes snapping open. “Wha—”

“It’s alright, Emi. Just the sentries.”

She pushed herself up onto her elbow and looked around. “Is it morning already?”

“No, it’s the middle of the night. Did you have a bad dream?”

Emi avoided his eyes. “Nah, I don’t really remember much of it. Sorry for falling asleep on you like that. You didn’t have to stay.”

Smiling, Rand pulled her back down against him. “I know I didn’t.”

The voices grew louder. Rand looked towards the door, ears straining.

“And thanks for staying around after I ... Well. You know. It helped,” Emi said softly. “I think you better go now though, that sounds serious.”

As if to confirm her suspicion, someone banged open the front door to the inn and started shouting for “Lord Perrin”. Rand scrambled from the bed and snatched his clothes from the floor, dressing hastily.

“Emi ...”

“Shush. It’s fine. Go be a hero. According to Anna and that Saeri girl, you’re pretty good at it.” She grinned confidently at him, the mask back in place. “See you tomorrow!”

Rand finished buckling on his swordbelt and leant down to kiss her cheek. “I promise,” he said. He was out the door before she could respond.

He was far from the only one driven from their blankets by the commotion. He had only taken a few steps down the darkened hall before he saw a pair of wolf’s eyes glowing in the faint light. He strode towards them, not quite sure if it was Perrin or Raine, just knowing that they were in the direction of the stairs. When he got close enough to see that it was Perrin, clad in his shirtsleeves with his axe hanging from his hip, Rand opened his mouth to ask if he knew what was going on, but Perrin spoke before he could.

“You were in Emi’s room,” he grated.

Rand stopped in place. “Was I? You’d need to ask her about that. I’ve never been one for gossiping about such things,” he said stiffly.

“Don’t give me that. I can smell her on you,” Perrin growled. He looked genuinely angry about it, for some reason.

Rand pursed his lips, considering briefly. He decided it would just be blind stubbornness to keep to his rule when Perrin so obviously knew the truth already. “Then, yes. I was in Emi’s room. What’s the problem, Perrin? She wasn’t forced into anything, and I made sure she enjoyed herself.”

Judging from his expression, that was the last thing Perrin had wanted to hear. “Burn you, Rand! Can’t you keep it in your pants just once!? She’s in no state to be getting involved with anyone.”

“Lord Perrin! Trollocs!” Alwyn al’Van called from downstairs.

Doors were coming unlatched all around them, as more and more guests roused and dressed. Perrin shook his head disgustedly and turned away from Rand. “I’m coming, Alwyn. And stop calling me that!”

The wolfbrother ran downstairs with Rand hard on his heels. The cobbler stammered his news quickly. Trollocs. Attacking from the east. They’d gotten close under the cover of darkness, and none of the far sentries had raised an alarm. Perrin winced at that, and Alwyn apologised foolishly, as though he thought Perrin was displeased with the sentries’ performance rather than pained at having Theren men most likely killed under his command. Rand shook his head as he strode past them. You’d think a fellow Therener would know Perrin better than that.

He was only half way across the torchlit street when Uno drew rein before him. He was fully armoured, just like the other seven Shienarans behind him. The others would be still getting ready, having slept this shift.

“Bad terrain for charging, villages,” Uno rasped. “Bad light for archers, too.”

Rand nodded. They wouldn’t be stopping the Trollocs before they reached the stakes this time. Masema, Bartu, Nengar, Mendao, Areku, Heita and Han were the other lancers present. He knew them all now. Some he even thought of as friends. It was hard to say the words, but he said them anyway. “I’ll be relying on all of you to hold the Trollocs off.”

“We will not fail you, my Lord Dragon,” Masema said fervently.

“Blood and ashes, Masema! Keep your voice down, you goat-kissing loon!” Uno hissed. His lone eye scowled at the people streaming towards the barricades, but none of them were close enough to hear, and even if they had been, they had other things on their minds just then.

“Where are those Aiel? They could at least make themselves useful,” Han said. His lined face was as bleary as ever, but his voice didn’t slur in the slightest.

“We are here,” said a voice from the darkness.

Han jumped in his saddle, and his horse looked back at him curiously. Muttering under his breath, he patted the stallion’s neck reassuringly, as though it had been the one to be startled.

“Will you be fighting?” Rand asked. He couldn’t tell which of the Aiel he addressed, only that it was a male voice.

“They are Shadowspawn,” he said, as though that were answer enough. The thought that it might be so was more pleasing to Rand than he cared to admit.

Uno would have held back and waited for Rand but for his barked order. Even after it, he glanced back worriedly as he galloped off towards the sound of fighting.

Rand hurried along in their wake with his drawn sword in his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, he sought and seized the male half of the One Power, allowing it and the Dark One’s taint that coated it to flow into his body. In the dark of night there might be some things he could do with  _ saidin _ that had a good chance of passing unnoticed.

He didn’t see any of the Aes Sedai out in the night yet, or their Warders, but on looking about for them, he noticed a pair of eyes gleaming out at him from a shadowy vale between two hills of torchlight.

Rand’s steps slowed and he angled his sword towards those eyes. “Raine?” he said uncertainly.

“I am here, Shadowkiller. We will hunt the Twisted Ones together,” she answered. She didn’t come into the light, and Rand thought he understood why: she wanted to preserve her night vision. He should have done the same, but the thought hadn’t occurred to him until then.

Even so, he wasn’t at all easy with the idea of letting a woman risk her life. It was his duty to protect her. And for once, here was a woman who might actually go to safety if he told her to. Rand opened his mouth to do just that, but the words died on his tongue. He couldn’t make the Maidens of the Spear not fight, but if he truly wanted to, he could probably order Areku to stand back and watch the rest of her squad struggle and bleed. He could do that—if he wanted to destroy her in order to save her. A man should never hurt a woman, and he should be willing to gladly die to prevent one from coming to harm. That was the way of things. Rand had accepted it unquestioningly for as long as he could remember. But these warrior women he had met challenged his beliefs in ways he found almost painfully unnerving.

A man’s scream of pain caused Rand to snap his head aside. Had that been someone he knew? “I don’t have time for this, Raine!” he snapped, his anger driven by the need to get into the fight. “Go back to the inn. You shouldn’t be out here in the dark; it’s dangerous.”

“Why would I cower in the den? I am no pup, and my teeth are sharp!” She sounded offended, which was something that he might have been relieved by at any other time. Certainly, it was preferable to her disturbingly submissive fixation on this “Shadowkiller” persona she imagined him to be.

Already uncertain of his stance on the issue, Rand allowed himself to be persuaded more easily than a Theren man should. “Fine!” he growled, disgusted with himself. “Just stay close to me.” At least he could protect her then, if she needed protecting.

Raine ran at his side towards the sound of battle. She wore only a white nightdress that barely reached her knees, but she had a pair of knives in her hands. Though calling them knives might have been selling them short; they were almost as long as the shortsword Hurin carried. The skinny girl held them with an easy familiarity, and her yellow eyes were intent and unafraid.

They didn’t even widen when she and Rand almost tripped over the corpse of Paetram al’Caar. Rand hadn’t known him well—Paetram was, or had been, a good bit older than him—but he still flinched as the connections flashed through his mind. Nela’s son, Bran’s nephew, Jerilin and Adan’s cousin, Berowyn’s and Elisa’s and Alene’s and Loise’s cousin, too. All that grief waiting for the news to spread to them. Everyone in Emond’s Field knew everyone else, related or not. And those less familiar faces that had come in from the distant farms would be tied to each other just as closely. There was not a death here that wouldn’t break someone’s heart.

Setting his teeth, Rand hopped over Paetram’s body, noting as he did so the fatal wound. A spear had killed him.  _ Close quarters. Some already got past the stakes _ .

When he rounded the next corner, he saw the truth of his supposition. Several black-mailed mounds littered the churned earth of Emond’s Field’s streets. The counterattack had driven the Trollocs back and inflicted casualties in the process, but it hadn’t been without price. Rand knew he needed to focus on the battle, but he couldn’t help but look at the faces of the half-dozen Theren men lying dead in the street. They might have been deadly with their bows, but in close quarters combat, the Trollocs had had the advantage. They were all Watch Hill men, barely recognised by Rand, if recognised at all. One was Saml Torfinn, Sara’s not-quite friend. He knew he shouldn’t feel relief that he didn’t know the dead men much—they were all someone’s loved ones—but relief still wormed its way into his heart.

With so many torches burning in the village, it was almost inevitable that the fighting should set fire to something, even if the Trollocs didn’t try to torch some houses themselves. As they neared the edge of town, Rand saw the fires already starting.  _ Dare I douse them with  _ saidin _? _ He thought he could manage it—Fire was his best element, just as Elayne had said—but surely someone would notice and wonder.  _ Where are the Aes Sedai? They could put out the fires without putting the fear of the Dark One into everyone in the Theren by doing it! _

The Trollocs had been driven back almost to the line of stakes when Rand arrived at the site of the fighting. He knew immediately that this was merely a raid. The Myrddraal that commanded this horde were testing the strength of Emond’s Field’s nocturnal defences. He didn’t like to imagine what they would think, having seen how far such a small group had managed to get. Uno and the rest were afoot, laying about them with workmanlike efficiency. Their presence seemed to have bolstered the more numerous but untrained and poorly equipped Thereners, who yelled out their fear and anger as they struck with axe or sword or makeshift spear at the much larger Shadowspawn.

There were Aiel there, too, but they fought alone rather than in even the ragged formation that Uno was cursing and raging the other defenders into. Rand saw Urien out among the stakes, dancing between them as deftly as he did between the Trollocs that tried to slash him with their curved swords. He killed two in the brief moment that Rand was watching. He recognised Aca as well, fighting with a spear in either hand, each of them moving almost too fast to see. She felled the Trolloc she was facing just as Rand’s sprint brought him into the melee. After that, he had no attention to spare for anything but the opponents in front of him.

The situation called for aggression, so Rand went at them with Cat on Hot Sand. He scored multiple cuts, none lethal and not all crippling, but even a minor wound was enough to make the Trollocs howl in pain as they gave ground. The second cut of Apple Blossoms in the Wind earned him his first kill of the night, but not his last, he silently vowed.  _ They don’t belong here. This is a peaceful place, a gentle place. These Light-blasted Shadowspawn don’t belong here! _ The void that surrounded Rand did not stop him from roaring angrily as he danced the forms in the flickering light of the torches, and tainted the soil of the Theren with dark, Trolloc blood.

He was dimly aware of Raine, still at his side, hunched low with her knives held out before her. She fought with no style that he recognised, and a caution that he was glad of. Instead of throwing herself savagely at the enemy, as he had feared she would, she hung back, waiting for an opening. She was quick to spot one when it presented itself, and quick to dart forward to dig one of those long knives into the flesh of their enemies.

It was hard to see what was going on around him, from the middle of the fight, but Rand heard Dav Ayellin’s familiar voice calling out for his mother, and dared to glance back at the village. The fires had spread to the Ayellin place and one of the walls had already fallen completely. Dav and his sisters were gathered around their father, Marin’s improbably bullish brother, Jon, and were frantically tossing the rubble of their home aside. They tried to ignore the flames licking hungrily at their flesh, but who could burn in silence? Mili’s scream split the night when the fire spread too quickly to the planking she was trying to move, forcing her to stumble back, shaking angrily reddened hands at the cool night air.

Rand thought of using  _ saidin _ , and it was almost the last thought he ever had. His inattention allowed a Trolloc to send a line of pain streaking down his left arm, and only a hastily improvised, one-handed version of The Rose Unfolds prevented the smiling, cat-faced thing from opening his throat with its followup. Unfortunately for cat-face, the move also knocked its blade low enough that its head was left vulnerable. It should have jumped backwards then, for Rand’s sword was in the dominant position, but the Trolloc tried to bull rush him instead. Ignoring the pain from his bleeding arm, Rand stepped smoothly backwards and slashed his blade across cat-face’s throat with a powerful, one-handed strike: Soft Rain at Sunset.

More Trollocs plunged into the space left by cat-face’s death, smelling Rand’s blood, perhaps literally. A snarling Raine hamstrung one of them for him, setting him up for an easy repeat of Soft Rain at Sunset. Uno and Masema were on them by then, one fighting grimly, the other with a bright-eyed glee. Rand fought on, ashamed at having needed protection and determined to make up for it. He heard voices from behind.

One was Corin Ayellin’s. She sounded as if she was in pain, but that wasn’t enough to hide her determination. “The Trollocs are coming, Jon! Take the children and run! Hurry!”

“And leave you? Don’t be crazy!”

“Why can’t you just listen to what I am saying for once! Please just listen to me! Just once!”

“Peace!” A Shienaran called from nearby, the oath swiftly followed by the clattering sounds of an armoured man running.

It was hard to tell in the dark how many Trollocs had been a part of this raid, and how many remained to face their fraying defensive line. Rand thought he heard the now familiar sounds of battle coming from the other sides of the village as well, and hoped the other defenders were holding.

“Thank you,” Jon said.

“Just you get her out of there, man. I’m about to butcher the shit out of the rest of these!” Han’s voice called out, his genial confidence for once not flowing from a bottle.

“There are too many!” Corin said. “Just leave me!”

“Don’t take me lightly, Mistress. I’ll kill those Trollocs and save all of you.”

The ring of steel on steel almost drowned out Jon al’Vere’s shout of, “Heave, Dav!”

Rand had no idea how long they fought that night, or how many they killed. At one point he found himself flanked by Raine and Areku, while the female boulder that was Amindha kicked a Trolloc’s goat-like legs out from under it and impaled the creature with her spear before it had time to finish gasping from its impact with the ground. He still felt ashamed at having other people fight battles that were his duty to fight. Was it worse that they were women though? Uno and Masema had done the same, and he’d felt just as disgruntled by it then.  _ So what is the difference, really? _ a traitorous voice asked. Rand silenced it firmly.

It was Moiraine who ended the fight. The sudden and repeated lightning strikes she summoned sent those Trollocs that survived, already wavering as they were, scampering away into the night.

Rand was breathing heavily by then, and was more than happy to see the enemy turn and run at last. He grounded his sword, and looked around him. He was far from the only person to be feeling the strain. Jac al’Seen dropped his spear and sat down on the muddy floor, his elbows resting on his knees as he struggled for breath. His remaining son, Ban, crouched beside him and held onto his own spear with trembling hands. Heita was kneeling over a mound of Trolloc corpses with his back to Rand, and Jon al’Vere held his wife in his arms while their children milled around them. None of the Aiel that Rand could see appeared even slightly winded. There were Thereners lying among the Trolloc dead but he shied away from examining the bodies too closely, not wanting to know who they had belonged to, not yet.

Moiraine and Lan, who loomed at her side, his head constantly turned in search of danger, were as expressionless as always, no matter if it was dead Trollocs, dead villagers, or Rand that their eyes rested on. There was blood on Lan’s sword, but none on either of them.

“Taking a place on the front lines was foolish,” Moiraine told Rand coolly. “You risk yourself and limit your vision.”

“What else should I do? Stand back and watch?”

“Lord Agelmar would have,” said Lan.

Lord Agelmar was a general. Rand ... Well, even he wasn’t quite sure what he was.

“This was a good hunt,” Raine said. She crouched not far from him, both hands resting on the ground between her spread knees, uncaring of the display she was making of herself. With the Trollocs gone, her glowing eyes were once more fixed on Rand. That didn’t disturb him as much as it once had.

Moiraine ignored her. “You have been injured, Rand. By what?”

He didn’t object when she took his arm between her hands. The cut stung more than he cared to admit. “A Trolloc sword, not a Fade’s. Not that I saw any Fades out here tonight.”

“No. These were of the Ghraem’lan tribe. One of the least among the Trollocs. The Myrddraal will have been watching through their eyes, to examine our defences,” Lan said.

Rand nodded. A raid. Just as he’d thought.

“The wound is not tainted. Or fatal. You should have the Wisdom examine it. I imagine she will be gentle and her medicines easy to swallow,” Moiraine said. Her voice was expressionless but he thought he saw a hint of satisfaction in her dark eyes. She removed her hands from Rand’s person without invoking the telltale cold rush of a Healing.

Rand tried to keep his face smooth. Nynaeve, for all her waspishness, had actually had a gentle touch when she held the Wisdom position. He somehow doubted the same was true of Daisy Congar.  _ Fine by me _ , he told himself.  _ I didn’t want any bloody Aes Sedai Healing anyway _ .

Uno and Mendao had joined Heita, both looking down at something on the ground. Frowning, Rand went to them, passing Amindha and Areku on his way.

“You dance your ... axe well, wetlander,” the Aiel said with the kind of bright smile that immediately distracted you from how atypical she looked.

Areku smiled back, either not knowing or not caring about the blood that streaked her pale face. It wasn’t hers, Rand was glad to see. “Thanks. You, ah, dance your spear well, too.”

“Are there Maidens of the Axe in Shienar then? I never knew of such a society.”

Areku burst into laughter. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. I’m just a soldier, like any other,” she said. That might have been true to her, but it wasn’t to Rand. He said nothing, just kept on walking.

Uno and the others said nothing either, when he reached them. They were looking down at a man surrounded by four dead Trollocs. He wore the yellow surcoat of a Shienaran soldier over his plate and mail, and the helmet on his head was open-faced to ensure no Myrddraal could pretend to be as he was. Not that one of those things ever could have, really. He had been a good man, brave and amiable. Eager to laugh, willing to work. Willing to stand between a struggling family and the Shadowspawn that would have killed them, even if it cost him his life.

Throat tight, Rand knelt beside Han Saresta’s body and reached out to gently ease his dark eyes closed. “May you shelter in the palm of the Creator’s hand,” he managed to grate. “May the last embrace of the mother welcome you home.” Behind him, he heard one of the Ayellin girls begin to weep.


	66. Shrouds

CHAPTER 63: Shrouds

A visibly frustrated Perrin was listening to reports of the battle when Rand returned to the Winespring Inn. The two other Warders were among those relating what they had seen while fighting, though they made a point of speaking as casually as possible, just in case anyone thought they were reporting to him.

“I haven’t seen such martial skills in such a humble setting since the last time I added ginger to my glorious Aes Sedai’s soup,” Ho said in response to Perrin’s query about the northern defenders’ performance. The Warder’s lined face and baggy eyes gave him a long-suffering look.

Perrin narrowed his eyes at the man as though suspecting mockery, but it was Ihvon he growled at. “We could have used Alanna out there.”

The darker Warder was unperturbed by Perrin’s yellow-eyed stare. “She will not be where Whitecloaks are,” was all he said.

Marin and Bran and their daughters were there, too, still in their night clothes. Min, Merile, Zarine, Sara—everyone was up so far as Rand could tell, either out in the night or pacing around looking dishevelled and worried. It was odd seeing Min in a nightdress. She came running over to him when she noticed the blood on his coat.

“Has Moiraine looked at this?”

Rand tugged his arm away from her carefully probing fingers. “It’s just a scratch. She says I should let the Wisdom deal with it.” Min muttered something angry under her breath, something which made Raine look at her in surprise.

“The great cow of Congar has a clinic set up at her house. She’s taken over the neighbours’ places as well. I’ll show you there,” Min said in a louder voice.

Rand was in no mood to be dealing with Daisy Congar just then. “I’ll go see her tomorrow.”

Min scowled at him. “Don’t be a loobie. You could catch an infection or something by then.”

“I somehow doubt Moiraine will let me die of that,” Rand said dryly. “Give over, Min. I’m tired.”

She looked like she wanted to argue more but he stepped past her, touching her shoulder lightly as he did so. “Thanks for your concern, but really, I’ll be fine.”

He intended to go straight to bed but Perrin called out to him before he’d reached the foot of the stairs. “Rand! What happened out at your side?”

“War happened,” he sighed. “People died but we held the line.”

“I need more than that! Who died? How many Trollocs were there?”

Rand mounted the stairs, grim faced. “I’m not in the mood, Perrin.”

“Burn your mood! Tell me what happened?” he demanded.

Turning, he fixed the wolfbrother with an angry stare. “You don’t give me orders, Aybara! No-one does. You want to know how bad the damage was? Then get off your ass and go look!”

They didn’t like him speaking to Perrin like that, not even Marin. But Rand didn’t care in the slightest for their approval. He showed them his back, still intent on reaching his bed.

However, once again he was interrupted. “Lord Rand! Can I speak to you?”

Sighing, Rand schooled himself to calmness before responding to Hurin. The sniffer had never been anything but loyal and brave, and deserved better than being on the receiving end of Rand’s ill temper. “Of course, Hurin. But make it quick please.”

Hurin caught up to him at the top of the stairwell. He had only a worn old shirt on his back, but his cudgel, shortsword and swordbreaker hung from his heavy belt, and looked like they’d seen hard use tonight. He peered around suspiciously before speaking. “Have you seen Lord Luc tonight?”

“No. But there are a lot of people I haven’t seen. It’s dark, and they came at us from many sides. He’s probably out there somewhere. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just ... I thought I smelled him while I was helping fight. Several times in fact, but every time I looked around for him he wasn’t there. Sometimes I smelled someone else, too. The one from back at the ambush. He came in with the Trollocs. But he wasn’t there either, not when I tried to find him, if you take my meaning. Peace! I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. I barely know what I’m saying myself.”

“You still think Luc was involved in the ambush?” Rand said slowly.

Hurin ran his fingers through his long grey hair, frustrated. “Light’s truth, I can’t say. They smell similar, but they aren’t quite the same.”

“Hmm. I don’t trust him either. Let’s check his room, for starters. Maybe there’s something in his belongings that will shed some light on this.”

Hurin followed Rand to Luc’s door, where Rand rapped on the wooden plank, not really expecting an answer. He was surprised to hear Luc call out grouchily. “What forsaken hour do you call this? Why are you disturbing me?”

He exchanged surprised looks with Hurin. “Are you asleep? There have been Trollocs in the village since ... I don’t know when!”

He heard a man’s heavy tread and the rattle of someone undoing a latch before the door opened to reveal a half-dressed Luc, whose maturely handsome face was set in an expression of disgruntlement. “Trollocs? You have Whitecloaks and Aes Sedai and Aiel, not to mention archers of your own. Must I do everything? It’s the middle of the night.”

“The battle has already been fought and won,” Rand said. “Don’t worry. You won’t have to lose your beauty sleep.”

“Bah. I happen to be a heavy sleeper, my young ‘Lord’ Rand. If you wanted my help you should have woken me earlier.” Luc frowned. “Why are you here now? You have never called on me before. Rather unsociable of you, I might add.”

Rand grunted. “No reason. I just wondered where you were.”

Luc studied both Rand and Hurin. Despite his half-dressed state, no bleary tiredness dulled his eyes. “Your footman is rather well armed for his post. Where did you acquire him? It’s strange to see a lone Shienaran commoner travelling with a squad of soldiers.”

Rand scowled. “I didn’t ‘acquire’ him anywhere,” he said, suddenly reminded of the Seanchan and their ways.

Hurin gave over scrubbing confusedly at his nose long enough to chip in with, “I’ve been with Lord Rand since Fal Dara.”

“Fal Dara. How delightful. Well, I really would love to chat, but the hour is rather late,” Luc said insincerely.

“It is. Sorry for disturbing you,” said Rand. He left the doorway, ushering Hurin ahead of him, and waited until he heard Luc close it again before stopping.

“I’m sorry, Lord Rand. My nose let me down. I could have sworn I smelled him outside,” Hurin fretted.

Rand shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, Hurin. Everyone makes mistakes. Keep an eye—or a nostril—out for this other one you spoke of. I’d like to know who is helping the Trollocs.”

“A nostril,” Hurin chortled. “I will indeed, my Lord. I surely will. A nostril.”

The sniffer was more amused by that joke than Rand thought was warranted. From someone else, he might have thought it a display of sycophancy, but Hurin wasn’t like that. He was too genuine. Rand wore a wry smile as he parted from him, and made his way to bed at last.

The cut on his arm wasn’t deep, but by the time he woke up the next morning the old shirt he’d wrapped it in to protect Marin’s linens was red all the way down one side. It struck to the wound when he moved his arm, too.  _ Time to make nice with the new Wisdom. May the Light have mercy on my soul _ . He clambered from the bed, washed up as best he could, and dressed the lower half of his body, before throwing a spare shirt over his shoulder. There was no point putting it on until Daisy had made good with her ointments and bandages.

Rand frowned in surprise when he opened the door of his room and found Raine sleeping outside. The red-haired wolfsister was curled up on the floor of the inn, right outside his room, still clad in her stained, once-white nightdress. He shook his head slowly. He distinctly recalled Anna offering to let her share her room; why would Raine sleep out here?

Sighing, Rand bent down to put his arms behind her knees and shoulders. She grumbled as he hefted her, and her yellow eyes snapped open before he’d made it two steps down the hall.

“Relax, Raine. It’s just me.”

“Are you going to mate me now?” she mumbled sleepily.

“No. Light. Stop getting such funny ideas. I’m just taking you back to your bed.”

“Am I not pack now? We hunted together,” she whined.

Rand hesitated before answering, not sure what meaning she would read into anything he might say in response. “I guess we’re pack, sure. But that doesn’t mean you have to do anything you don’t want to. That all of you doesn’t want to, I mean.”

“I think I understand,” she said slowly.

_ Well, that makes one of us _ . He was hard pressed to explain to himself why he was so reluctant to take an attractive and interesting girl like her up on such a generous offer. It just felt wrong somehow.

He had to tap on Anna’s door repeatedly before she answered. When she opened it, she was still rubbing sleep from her eyes. She’s shed her boots and coat, but still wore her dark breeches and a soot-stained boy’s shirt. Plainly she had not sat out the fight, no matter how ill-suited the darkness was to archery. Just as plainly, she hadn’t bothered to fully undress before falling into bed afterwards. Her brows rose when she saw Raine in Rand’s arms, and she fixed him with a flat stare.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Rand explained hastily. “I found her sleeping elsewhere and thought I’d bring her to her proper bed, so she’d be more comfortable.”

“Uh huh.”

He carried Raine into the room and eased her down onto the couch, where discarded blankets and pillows told the tale of Raine’s hasty awakening of the night before. “I don’t ... with everybody.”

“Uh huh.”

The wolfsister pulled her blankets over herself and curled up on the couch, saying nothing. Rand stepped back out into the hall.

“I, ah, I need to go see the Wisdom,” Rand told Anna.

“Uh huh,” she said, before closing the door matter-of-factly in his face.

_ Why does everyone think I’m a slut just because I like to be intimate with people? _ Rand found no answers to that question written on the blank wood of Anna’s door, so he turned back towards the stairs.

Most of the fighting men had sought their blankets, but that wasn’t to say that Emond’s Field slept. There were a great many women up and about when Rand descended, and judging by their state of dress many of them had stayed awake all night. Marin’s inn almost looked like a command tent there were so many people toing and froing from it, and the woman herself sat in the middle of it all like some kind of apron-clad general.

Berowyn sat at the foot of the stairs with a tray across her knees. It held writing materials instead of food and drink though, and she was compiling some kind of list in her neat and graceful hand. Not wanting to disturb her, Rand sat down on a higher step and waited.

Min was there, clad in her usual coat and breeches now. She and Alene had writing trays akin to Berowyn’s, and were helping Marin organise things while chatting about something that made both girls smile. Rand was glad they could be happy. He couldn’t share their good humour though. He kept thinking about Moiraine’s words from last night. If he’d stayed back, away from the front lines, might he have noticed Han was in trouble in time to intervene and save him? He’d had  _ saidin _ at his fingertips the whole fight, and never once found an opportunity to use it.

Larine Ayellin was among those reporting to Marin. She’d always been a bit full of herself, in Rand’s opinion, but when she noticed him sitting there she looked suddenly uncertain. He thought she wanted to say something to him, from the way she kept glancing over, but Berowyn unwittingly shielded him from that. Rand was glad of it; he didn’t want to talk about Han just then.

Elisa al’Seen was talking to Marin about the housing situation, which Rand gathered had gotten more complicated due to the number of houses that had been burnt in the raid. Elisa’s younger sister, the beautiful Katerin, was with her. She lived on the al’Rhys farm almost half way between Emond’s Field and Deven Ride. Her husband, Nik al’Rhys, had been the last living member of his family, like Anna, when Katerin married him and moved in to manage his family lands. Wil was her eldest child, and got his looks from her. They had brought their entire family with them when they answered Perrin’s call for everyone to gather in the villages, and had been far from the only family to do so. It was no wonder Marin was looking so frazzled, with so many people to see fed and housed.

Merile sat on one of the stools, kicking her heels nervously. Rand suspected she would have been glad to help if anyone asked her to, but it looked like no-one had thought to give her a job. When she saw Rand, a pretty smile lit up her face and she waved cheerfully. He smiled back, hoping she had gotten safely past the channelling sickness.

Merile’s wave drew a great deal of female scrutiny Rand’s way. The loudest sniff, though far from the only one, came from Ellan Dowtry, Elam’s mother. “Young man, what are you doing wandering around with no shirt on? Get yourself back to your room and dress properly before coming out again.”

Berowyn looked around and blinked at Rand in surprise. “Oh. Rand. I-I didn’t ... see you there,” she stammered, blushing over the admission.

“That’s alright, Berowyn. I didn’t want to disturb you. Finish your work, I’m in no rush.”

But she had already gotten to her feet and was moving hastily out of the way. Berowyn was like that; solicitous to a fault. He smiled his thanks as he rose and came the rest of the way downstairs.

“I’m fairly sure your room is upstairs, Rand al’Thor,” Ellan said, planting her hands on her hips.

“I don’t want to put a shirt on until I’ve gotten this wound bandaged,” he explained, ignoring her efforts to drive him away with a stare.

“He just can’t pass up a chance to flex his muscles in public,” Min confided to Alene in a too-loud voice. “I swear, sometimes I thought we’d never manage to pass through a town without him stripping off and striking poses.” Alene threw back her head and laughed unabashedly.

Rand was shocked by Min’s betrayal.  _ I never did anything of the sort! _ She didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed of the lie. She just laughed at the look on his face.

Elisa al’Vere entered from the kitchen, washing her hands on a towel and grinning. “Is that so? Rand al’Thor. I never would have thought you’d be so adventurous.”

“Min has a tendency to exaggerate,” Rand said stiffly. “And sometimes she exaggerates even more than usual!”

“Well at least he has the muscles for it,” Alene said, looking Rand up and down and waggling her eyebrows. Even Katerin and Elisa al’Seen saw fit to laugh softly at that. Scowling, and feeling hot in the face, Rand stalked past the assembled women, trying not to see their smiles.

The streets outside were quiet, and the air pleasantly cool. Putting the women and their jokes out of his mind, Rand turned his feet towards Daisy Congar’s place. He hadn’t gotten far from the inn though, before a slight movement drew his eye. At least one other man was awake it seemed. He could see the back of a Shienaran head, his dark topknot falling forward as he bent to kiss someone leaning against the wall of the Winespring Inn. A girl, short and willing, was all Rand could tell at a glance. He made his steps quiet as he walked on by. Whoever they were, it was none of his business.

He still found out though, for the kissing couple shifted far enough for him to see the sides of their faces. Heita and Luci. Rand’s brows rose. He’d noticed that the young armsman fancied his maid, but given how monumentally shy she was, he hadn’t thought much of Heita’s chances.  _ Good for him _ . Luci was blushing furiously, but she was kissing him back all the same. Rand tiptoed past them.

While the rest of Emond’s Field still rested from last night’s action, Daisy Congar’s place was a bustle of activity. Most of the wounded, those whose injuries had not been serious enough to warrant troubling an Aes Sedai over, had been brought there, and low moans could be heard long before Rand approached the door.

He let himself in and, on seeing how many wounded there were, even in the front room alone, settled in for a long wait. Fat Nat Lewin was there, sitting on one of Daisy’s chairs with his bloodied leg stretch out to the side. His weight hadn’t stopped him from joining the fight. Jon Finngar was there, too, Lem’s da. His lantern jaw was set in such a grimly stubborn way that it almost seemed he was trying to will the cuts on his face to close. Rand had never gotten the chance to offer his condolences over Lem’s death last year, and it seemed a difficult topic to raise now. Jon ignored him though, and he let the moment pass. There were plenty of others there that Rand recognised, from men as old as Jondyn Barran to boys as young as Adan al’Caar.

Jerilin was there with her brother, holding a cloth against the cut on his shoulder, and looking a lot less animated than she usually did. Rand could understand that. Adan was barely fourteen, if that. He’d had no business being out in that chaos last night.

Rand took a seat on Jerilin’s other side. He imagined the more serious injuries would have been brought straight to the Wisdom, leaving only relatively minor wounds to wait, but he still decided to ask. “Jeri. It’s good to see you again. It’s been a while. How’s that cut looking? Is it serious?”

Jeri had always had a bountiful supply of confidence, but she looked at Rand warily before answering. That saddened him. “It won’t stop bleeding, no matter how long we hold a bandage on it. Mama wants the Wisdom to stitch it before he bleeds to death,” she said, completely ignoring Adan’s loud claim to be “as right as well water”.

Rand leaned forward to get a better look. The cloth she was holding to Adan’s wound was pretty red, but not so sodden that he looked likely to bleed to death. He suspected their mother was being overly protective. If it was otherwise, he’d have offered to get Moiraine to treat Adan. He thought he had enough influence with her to persuade her to help. But if it was something that Daisy could handle herself then he didn’t want to approach the Aes Sedai over it. Adan coloured under the scrutiny and set his jaw in that typical Theren way.

“That doesn’t look too life-threatening to me,” Rand said, leaning back. “I’ve seen men survive worse. But if the Wisdom gives you any hint that she’s worried, come to me. I’ll put in a word for you with the Aes Sedai.”

A familiar smile brightened Jeri’s long face. “You’ll put in a word with the Aes Sedai? Just like that? Between you, Luc, the Aiel, and those two girls, I’m started to think that red hair fries people’s brains!”

“Well you have to have brains in the first place for them to be fried, al’Caar, so you’re safe,” Rand said, grinning to show her he didn’t mean it.

There was a hint of relief in her laughter, but not at a change in mood from the tense waiting, as Rand first expected. “It’s good to see you acting more like yourself, Rand. I didn’t know what to think, when you rode in here surrounded by all those warriors, looking all grim and lordly.”

He sighed. “It changes you, Jeri. All the fighting. You’ll see it yourself now, if you haven’t already. Might be you’ll feel it, too. But I’m still me.”

She bit her lip. “That’s good. How’s that cut?”

“It’s as right as well water. I doubt it’ll even leave a scar,” he said blandly. Jeri snorted in a very unladylike manner.

One of the doors in the hallway opened and Dav Ayellin stepped out, urging the person inside to rest well. His mother, or his sister Milli, or maybe both, Rand expected. Dav wore a worried frown as he came into the front room, one which deepened when he saw Rand sitting there. He stopped in his tracks, but a glance at Jeri seemed to reassure him of something.

“Ah, Rand?” he said as he approached. “I, ah, I just wanted to say I’m sorry about your, your man. The armsman. He was a hero. Without him I think my ma—” Dav’s eyes welled up suddenly and his words broke off. His face turned red and he took a sudden interest in the floor, gamely trying to fight back the tears.

Dav’s embarrassment proved contagious and Rand found himself examining the brands on his palm while pretending he hadn’t noticed the other boy’s dilemma. “His name was Han Saresta,” he said quietly, after an awkward minute had passed. “And protecting people from the Shadowspawn was his calling in life. He’d have wanted me to tell you you’re welcome, I think.”

“I’ll remember that name. All my family will,” Dav vowed in a rough voice. “Han Saresta.”

“Thanks,” Rand said. A small word, and insufficient, but he couldn’t think of what else to say in a moment like that. “Are your mother and sister going to be okay?”

“The Wisdom thinks so,” Dav said, but then he frowned. “She’s a bit worried about Milli’s hands though. They don’t bend the way they used to.”

Rand recalled Thom Merrilin, and the limp he still walked with due to how long it had taken Moiraine to find and Heal him. “You might want to get the Aes Sedai to look at that, too. If there’s a chance it won’t heal naturally then it’s best to get it Healed as soon as possible. The longer you wait, the more chance the scars will be permanent.”

Dav shuffled his feet. “We couldn’t do that. Aes Sedai don’t want to be bothered. Who knows what they might do?”

“They might cut off your sister’s hands,” Rand said dryly. “But if she stands to lose them anyway ...”

“I guess ...”

Rand sighed. “Look, Dav. I don’t much like the Aes Sedai, but they aren’t the cackling monsters some folk paint them as. The worst they’ll do to you for asking is call you some names and make light of you. And in the best case, they’ll make Milli’s wounds disappear entirely. You, or one of your parents, should ask, in my opinion. But it’s your decision.”

Dav nodded. “I’ll tell my mother what you said, Rand. Thanks.”

The four Theren youths chatted while they waited on the Wisdom, though Rand ended up being the one who did most of the talking. Even the heavily truncated version of what he’d seen of the world outside proved a surprisingly wordy tale. He avoided anything that might lead to them suspecting he might be the man claiming to be the Dragon Reborn, and instead told them of the people he’d met on his travels. Lan’s being famed as the Uncrowned King of Malkier caused jaws to drop, and Min having escaped from the enslavement of an otherworldly army that came from across the Aryth Ocean had them shaking their heads. He wasn’t sure if they entirely believed what he told them of the Seanchan, but he couldn’t help but smirk at the idea of them pestering Min for tales of her heroism. That would teach her to make fun of him all the time. Hopefully it wouldn’t make her stop doing it though. Jerilin rolled her eyes when Rand mentioned having met a woman who could turn into a raven.

“Now you’re just making things up!” she said. “And to think I almost believed you about the rest. Falling into a princess’s garden my butt!”

Before Rand could argue his innocence, Daisy Congar’s voice put an end to their talk. “You mind your language, Jerilin al’Caar, or your tongue will be minding my soap.”

Jeri blushed and pressed harder against the wound on Adan’s back. She pressed so hard in fact, that an uncharitable man might think she was trying to hide behind her younger, if no longer littler, brother. Rand smiled.

The hard look that Daisy gave him wasn’t enough to wipe that smile from his face. She was a big woman, almost six feet tall and heavy in a way that had little to do with fat. Her braid was mostly grey now but she was still a powerful force in the village, one who had a well-established reputation for bullying anyone who got in her way, especially her skinny husband, Wit.

Daisy looked around the room, her shrewd eyes taking in the various wounds, and gauging their severity. At least, that’s what Rand hoped she was doing. It was what Nynaeve would have done, but he was far from convinced that Daisy was a good choice to replace her. But that was Women’s Circle business, of course.

“All night long, and never a chance to rest,” she muttered. “Alora! Come dab some ointments on Master Finngar’s face. Doral’s afraid he’ll lose his good looks, and never mind the fact that the village is under siege.”

Jon Finngar’s face flushed nearly as red as the open gashes upon it. He spluttered his objections when Daisy’s youngest child and new apprentice scurried out of a back room with a scrip hanging from her shoulders that was almost as big as she was. Alora wasn’t even ten yet, but she was still charged with treating the blushing miller. Rand had no doubt the slight was intentional.

After examining the rest of the injured men, Daisy’s eyes came to rest on Rand. Her smile was unpleasantly warm. “That doesn’t look too bad at all, young al’Thor. I think you can wait until last.”

_ I’m to be put in my place am I? _ He wondered if Moiraine and Daisy had coordinated, or if they were just of one mind regarding how uppity Rand had gotten. Either way, there was nothing he could do except endure it. He leaned back in the chair and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. “Fine by me, Wisdom. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my travels it’s that you have to seize every chance you can to rest and relax. There’s always another crisis just around the corner.”

Daisy looked at him silently for a long moment, before sniffing loudly. She went to have a closer look at Nat’s leg, and then offered him a shoulder to lean on as she led him back down the hall. For all her age, and his weight, her steps didn’t falter at all.

Being in little doubt that Daisy would carry through with her threat, Rand settled in for an even longer wait.

Sure enough, he was the last person to be treated that morning. He absolutely refused to let himself get riled over that, and greeted Daisy with cool politeness when she finally came to escort him to a room to be treated. He didn’t flinch even a little when she yanked at the shirt he’d been using as a makeshift bandage, despite the way it ripped at the scabs that had been forming around it. Her overly firm poking only won her a knowing smile. She hesitated for a moment then, but the ointment she smeared on the long cut down his arm still stung like blazes. Rand had experienced enough of such salves to suspect Daisy had mixed a little something extra into this one. He was determined not to show her any sign of discomfort, even if he had to assume the void to do it, and was a little surprised at how easy it ultimately proved to keep his face and voice smooth despite the pain. Daisy didn’t respond when he thanked her for her time and work, once she’d finished tying the bandage to his arm; she just watched, stone-faced, as he rose from the chair he’d been perched on and let himself out.

He was almost out the door when she finally spoke. “That cut might be infected. I want to have another look at it. Come back here and see me an hour after Trine.”

“Very well,” Rand said calmly, without looking back. He could feel her eyes on his back as he left.

If the Winespring Inn had been a woman’s place when Rand got up that morning, it was a man’s place when he returned, with almost all the women apparently having sought their blankets after a full night’s work. Anna and Raine were the only females in sight and they were huddled together at a corner table with their heads so close together that it all but demanded privacy. Anna was doing most of the talking and Raine looked troubled by whatever was being said. Perrin, Hurin, Tam, Uno, Urien, Aram, Bran and many others had gathered around the tables and fire, smoking and drinking.  _ When the cats are away, the mice will play _ .

Uno looked up at Rand’s entrance, and he saw a question in the old soldier’s eye.  _ Han’s funeral. Yes. I should be there _ . But there was something he had to do first.

Lan sat alone, nursing a cup of cider. Rand went to him immediately, knowing they should speak of the man he’d seen in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ , the one who resembled Lan so well, but not sure how to broach the subject. Lan was understandably touchy where Malkier and its people were concerned.

Lan flicked a glance at Rand’s arm after he’d sat down. “Comfortable?”

Rand snorted softly. He was sure he hadn’t done anything to give away his discomfort, but the Warder was a smart man, and a good judge of character. “I suspect she put some peppers in it. As a sign of her affection.”

“You have a way with people,” Lan said, unsmiling. Rand spent longer than he’d meant to, wondering if the Warder was criticising him or joking, and failing utterly to decide which was most likely. Lan’s face, of course, revealed nothing.

“Um. There was something I wanted to talk to you about, Lan. Something that will sound a bit strange,” he said at last.

“I’m listening.”

Rand drew a deep breath. “So. You probably know about the dream world, right?  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ ? Moiraine seems to know a bit about it.” Lan nodded slowly. Rand continued, glad he wouldn’t have to try and explain that place when he barely understood it himself. “Well, I sometimes find myself stuck there. It’s very strange, and I’d avoid it altogether if I could, but that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. I met someone there last night. Ah, it’s not the first time I’ve met people there, not even the first time I met a stranger, but this stranger was kind of ... distinctive.”

“What are you trying to say, sheepherder?”

Rand spread his hands. He might as well just come right out with it. “Well, he looked like you. Very much like you. He wore his hair just like you do, with the braided leather cord and everything. He said he worked for Ba’alzamon, just before he disappeared.”

Lan frowned. He didn’t move much more than that, but there was a sudden feel of tension in the air, like the moment just after you set a bear trap, when you were half-wondering if it would stay set or snap closed on your hands. “You met a Malkieri Darkfriend. In  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ ,” he said flatly.

“I think so.”

After a while, Lan shook his head. “Any Darkfriend is a threat to be eliminated. That this one is Malkieri changes nothing. He wouldn’t be the first survivor of Malkier to fall to the Shadow.” His blue eyes flashed with emotion, just for a moment, before once more becoming chips of ice. “His use of  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ is more troubling. I will speak to Moiraine of it later. Be wary when you dream, sheepherder.”

“Awake, asleep. In foreign lands and at home. Is there ever a time when I shouldn’t be wary?”

“No,” Lan said mercilessly. Rand sighed and rose from the table to go speak to Uno.

They had been planning to bury Han in one of the far fields. There would have been the danger of Trolloc scouts out there, but with more than a dozen armed and armoured men, Rand was sure they could see off any threat. If was a moot point though, for Jon al’Vere caught wind of their plans and came on his wife’s behalf to offer the use of the Ayellin plot. They would bury Han alongside the people whose daughter and granddaughters he had saved. Areku called that a fine thing, and the others seemed to agree, so Rand thanked Jon for his generosity and got some embarrassingly heartfelt thanks of his own in return. He had been worried he would have to speak at the funeral, since he knew himself to be a terrible public speaker, but Geko took charge of things as they laid Han to rest. Perrin, Lan and Hurin attended, as did Dav and his younger sisters. Tam came as well, though he’d barely known Han. Anna roused Min, Saeri and Luci from their beds, too, something which Rand hadn’t thought to do, an oversight that shamed him the more he thought of it. Han had helped to save the girls at Nethara, and had performed with Min in Valan Luca’s circus. Of course they should be there.  _ I have to do better _ .

“... may the last embrace of the mother welcome you home,” he echoed with all the others, when Geko was finished. Ragan and Katsui began shovelling the earth over Han’s naked corpse.


	67. Cuckoldry

CHAPTER 64: Cuckoldry

After Trine had come and passed, Rand excused himself and wandered his way back to Daisy Congar’s place. The front room was empty now, all those people nursing minor wounds having been treated and sent home, and all those whose wounds were more serious having been afforded a place to rest up. He called out for the Wisdom and got a response from upstairs.

“I’m in! Come here!”

Rand climbed the stairs and followed the sound of voices towards a room in the back. The door was ajar so he rapped on it lightly before nudging it open.

“You asked me to come by and get my bandages looked at, Wisdom,” he said.

Daisy was sitting on the couch by her dresser with her hands folded in her lap, dressed in the plain brown dress of a typical Theren woman. An apothecary rested on the table at her side. “Come in and take off your shirt, Rand,” she said peremptorily.

He did as she asked, but he did it slowly. They were in what looked to be her own bedroom, judging from its cleanly state. He imagined everywhere else was full of the sick and wounded. A heavy wardrobe all but covered one whole wall and the bed was large and comfortable looking. The decorations were fairly rich by Theren standards, too, with several ceramic vases filled with fresh flowers, and some paintings of the wall. Local work, by Witney Eldin. He wouldn’t have expected Daisy to have such pretty furnishings; somehow, he’d imagined her sleeping on a cold stone slab.

Rand shed his shirt and draped it over the arm of the second chair before sitting down and presenting his bandaged arm for Daisy’s inspection.

She wasn’t as rough this time. Instead of prodding the sliced flesh and muscle, she squeezed it in her callused hands. She spoke casually as she worked. “You must have killed many Trollocs, to get such arms.”

“Ah. I guess. Farmwork does much the same, though.”

She held his wrist and pulled his arm upwards. “Do you feel any resistance? Not that it would matter to a man like you, out there slicing up Shadowspawn while other so-called ‘men’ cower under their beds, or in their closets.”

“It’s fine, Daisy,” he said slowly. She was sitting so close that he could feel her warm breath on his skin as she spoke.

“Yes it is. Much finer than what we usually find around here.”

_ What is this? _ “I don’t know about that. Tam and Perrin and Mat are far from the only Thereners to have made heroes of themselves.”

“Sure, sure. It’s only certain men that fail to measure up.” Daisy ran her hand across his chest, feeling its hardness, and banished Rand’s confusion in the process.  _ Daisy Congar is flirting with me! Blood and ashes! _ He’d imagined many things happening when he returned home, but this certainly hadn’t been one of them.

She smiled confidently as she saw the realisation in his eyes, and her fondling didn’t falter in the slightest. Rand was conflicted. The way she just assumed she could have her way with him if she wanted was kind of annoying. Part of him wanted to refuse, just to see how surprised she’d be at not getting her way. On the other hand ... Rand did very much enjoy having sex, and Daisy was an interesting woman, if not a beautiful one. That thin, Congar face bore the lines of age well, too, though even her smiles didn’t make her look anything but a hard woman. Her hair was almost entirely grey, but that had never bothered Rand. He quite liked the colour grey. He bit his lip. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of taking Daisy to that big bed and seeing just how hard a fucking she could take.

“Let’s get you out of that dress and onto that bed, then you can judge for yourself how I ‘measure up’,” Rand said.

Daisy smiled at his words. Her smiled didn’t falter even slightly when she tried to slap him in response. Instinctually, Rand caught her wrist in his hand, and held it firmly in place, while being careful not to squeeze too hard.

He searched Daisy’s dark eyes and found only an amused challenge there. He hesitated for a moment, and then decided to test a theory.

When he pulled Daisy to him and kissed her lips roughly, she did not pull away. If anything, she kissed him back even more roughly. After that proved unable to satisfy her, she began biting at his lip with her teeth, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to hurt. Wincing, Rand took hold of her braid and pulled her hair warningly. Daisy let him go, and laughed softly.

“So that’s how you want it? Very well.” Rand swept Daisy into his arms. Hefting her not inconsiderable bulk strained his injured arm more than he cared to admit, but he managed to carry her to the bed without shaming himself. He threw her onto the soft mattress without ceremony, and then stood by the bedside to unbuckle his swordbelt.

Daisy adjusted herself in order to pull her dress up over her head. She proved to be naked underneath, without stockings or shoes or even underwear. Rand’s brows rose. She’d been planning this, he knew then. The hair on her sex was darker than that on her head, and the skin on her belly had been stretched by the strain of carrying children. Her breasts were large and hung low, the skin there, too, was stretched by time’s weight. She cupped her breasts in her hands and squeezed them, while watching his reaction.

“I bet you found some outlander girl to show you a woman’s touch, didn’t you, Rand? Well, you trust me when I tell you, there’s nothing quite like the taste of home.”

Rand let his sword drop to the rug, before calmly undoing his breeches. Daisy seemed to think him more inexperienced than he was. He thought she was putting on a show, too, for his benefit. Perhaps she wasn’t sure of his reaction to the sight of her body, given the age difference between them. He kicked off his boots and let his breeches drop to the floor of her bedroom and showed her the truth of his reaction.

Daisy gaped at the sight of Rand’s stiff cock. He knew from her reaction that he was bigger than her husband, and found himself smirking. Sternly, Rand forced his face back to decency. It shouldn’t matter. The size. But no matter how often he told himself it didn’t, he couldn’t deny feeling pride in being bigger and thicker than most men. It said nothing of his worth, one way or the other. After all, he was bigger than Tam, but that didn’t make Tam any less his father, or he any less Tam’s willing receptacle. But the pride was still there, no matter how often he told himself it was wrong to feel it.

Rand didn’t kiss Daisy again. Instead, he pushed her back onto the bed and took hold of her ankles. She made a token effort at resisting when he spread her legs, but he knew she just wanted to feel his strength. He showed it in the way he spread her wide and held her there as he came to kneel between her thick thighs.

“You think you can just stick that big thing in me, Rand?”

“Unless you ask me nicely not to, it’s going all the way in. Don’t think I’ll be gentle, not with a big, tough woman like you.”

“Big talk for such a little boy. I bet you’re as boneless as my husband,” Daisy said. She turned her face away but didn’t stop him from mounting her, and when he thrust himself into her loose pussy she cried out loudly.

Rand saw no need to restrain himself. He pounded Daisy’s pussy hard and fast, supporting his weight on both hands as his hips slammed down against hers over and over again. The old woman made no effort to still her voice, and Rand grew concerned that some of the patients who still rested in her house would hear what was going on. They’d probably assume she was with her husband, of course, so he was safe. And if she didn’t mind someone tittering behind their hand at her, then that was fine with him. He pulled himself almost all the way out before thrusting into her again, and kept that pace up as Daisy grew more and more wild in her bucking reactions. Her breasts shook wildly from the impact of his body against hers.

She wrapped her legs around his hips and raked his chest with her nails, but Daisy never looked at Rand’s face while he fucked her. She’s glance at his body, she’d look down to smile at his cock as it moved in and out of her hole, but she never made eye contact. Instead, she kept looking to the side, off towards the wardrobe.

It wasn’t just her moans that were loud, Daisy liked to talk, too, if you could call it that. “Oh, yes. Stuff me with that big cock,” she would say. Or, “It’s so huge, so thick, so manly. It bet you could fill a barrel with your come, couldn’t you? Show me. Fuck me ‘til you fill me.”

Rand found the things she was saying a bit embarrassing, and not particularly inspiring, but she seemed to get excited by them, so he didn’t let any sign of his awkwardness show.

He didn’t mind the way she avoided his eyes, either. Not really. He knew there was nothing of love in what they were doing. But after a while, Rand began following her gaze, curious as to what was on her mind while she took his cock inside her.

The wardrobe door was slightly open, he noticed on close inspection. It almost seemed to be shaking a little, too, though it was hard to tell for sure while he was busy shaking the bed as he was.

Rand knelt up between Daisy’s thighs and reached down to rub at the outside of her pussy, intent on bringing her off quickly now. It wasn’t difficult. With his unfamiliar cock in her body and whatever it was that was making her so excited, he only had to rub her for half a minute or so before the new Wisdom was coming around him, just like the old Wisdom had. She cursed as she came, and kept her expressive face turned towards that suspicious wardrobe.

Rand might not have noticed it, if his ears hadn’t been perked that way, but just as Daisy started coming, he heard someone whisper, “Burn me. Burn me for true.”

“Who was that?” he asked, looking around.

Daisy’s gasp of alarm echoed in the wardrobe. Rand glared at the furniture through narrowed eyes. He felt suddenly vulnerable, and not just because he was naked with his cock stuck in a woman he wasn’t even sure he liked, much less loved. Glaring at a wardrobe was exactly the sort of thing a crazy person would do.  _ I’m not crazy. Not yet. Light send it so _ .

“It’s nothing,” Daisy said hastily. “Just keep fucking me.”

But Rand was too set on the idea of having gone mad to listen to her. He slid his cock out of her pussy and clambered from the bed. The sudden chill of exposing his wet rod to the open air helped to clear his mind. When he approached the wardrobe, it was with his weight balanced carefully on the balls of his feet. When he yanked it open, he found a very red-faced man hiding within.

Wit Congar was a short, scrawny man whose greying hair was retreating back over his skull. He tried to retreat as well, at the sight of Rand standing naked and erect and very surprised outside his wardrobe. Sadly for Wit, there wasn’t much room in there to hide. Shaking his head, Rand recovered enough of his wits to notice that Wit was clutching his cock in his hand, though the purple head of it barely poked out of his closed fist.

“R-Rand. W-what do y-you think you’re doing here?” Wit stammered, blinking rapidly as he staggered out of the wardrobe with his cock still in hand. “H-how d-dare you f-fuck my wife!”

Rand glanced back and forth between the couple. Big Daisy and little Wit. They were cousins as well as spouses, and Daisy was the elder. She also bossed Wit around completely.

Daisy sighed at the look on Rand’s face. “Oh, stop your stammering, Wit. He knows.”

“I do?” Rand said. That was news to him.

“I wanted Wit to see how a real man does it. When I told him, he got so excited he almost creamed his smallclothes right then and there,” said a smirking Daisy.

“Daisy, please,” Wit whined.

“Don’t you ‘Daisy, please’ me, Wit Congar! As if we can’t all see how much you enjoyed watching me being fucked, you little pervert!”

Rand stood naked in the Congars’ bedroom, feeling intensely uncomfortable all of a sudden. His cock was rapidly softening, despite not having come yet, and every moment he spent in the company of the naked woman he’d just fucked and her clothed but erect husband, who was still clutching his cock in his hand, just made him shrink faster.  _ This was a terrible idea. I should have run as soon as Daisy started fondling me _ . Why didn’t he just say “no”? He hadn’t said “no”. He almost never did, in all honesty. For some reason, that thought made him shiver uncontrollably.  _ Maybe I really am just a slut _ .

When he fetched his breeches from the floor and started pulling them on, Daisy objected. “Leaving already, Rand? You haven’t even come yet. I bet it’s a flood, given the size of that sausage you’re packing. Come on, wouldn’t you like to look Wit in the eye as you fuck his wife?” She laughed delightedly at the idea, and Wit, the poor sick wretch, actually started jerking himself off right then and there.

Possibilities flashed through Rand’s mind. He could do as Daisy suggested. Or he could invite Wit to join him. Mouth, ass or pussy, they could take a hole each. Or maybe Wit would prefer to fuck Rand’s ass, while he pounded Wit’s wife some more. Rand knew he should shy away from all those possibilities. This was not a healthy relationship and he should not be involved in it any more than he already was. But the most disturbing thing about it all, was how little it disturbed him. He could very easily imagine himself doing any or all of those things.  _ I think ... I think there’s something wrong with me, just like Vara said there was _ .

Rand pulled up his breeches and struggled back into his shirt. “I’ll leave you two to finish ... whatever it is you want to finish,” he said. Far from blushing at the situation he found himself in, Rand felt cold and pale. He snatched his boots and swordbelt from the floor and bundled them in his arms. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Discretion is my watchword.”

Daisy sniffed. She got up from her bed and stood with her arms folded under her sagging breasts, completely unembarrassed at the scene the three of them made. “Maybe I overestimated you, Rand. Are you really going to slink off with the job half-finished? You and Wit might have more in common than I realised.”

_ Yes. We both make terrible decisions _ , Rand thought. “A good day to you both,” Rand said stiffly.

He tried to ignore Daisy’s recriminations as he let himself out of her bedroom but her tone stuck in his mind, even if her words did not. Rand knew then that there were some things even he wouldn’t do, and accounted that progress, of a sort. If ever he was faced with a choice of living a marriage like those two had, or living in the woods as a hermit, he’d choose hermitage and he’d choose it happily.


	68. Wounds

CHAPTER 65: Wounds

Coming home had proven a terrible disappointment for Perrin. He’d lost his family, and the more this “Lord Perrin” nonsense went on, the more he felt he was losing his people as well. For a wonder, it was a girl he’d met only a month ago that was his greatest source of comfort in those times. Faile’s kisses had grown more ardent since that first time, not long after she’d told him of her family’s heritage, when he’d confessed to her about the wolves and she’d started talking of marriage. They never did more than kiss, though sometimes he thought she wanted to. Perrin certainly wanted to, but would never try to push things until she was ready.

What Perrin wanted didn’t seem to matter much to the Pattern either. He had no doubt this sudden leadership position he’d found himself in was  _ ta’veren _ work. For the Light’s sake, all he’d done was tell folk they should gather at Emond’s Field instead of letting the Trollocs pick them off one family at a time. And help sneak the prisoners out of the Whitecloak camp. How something so simple could lead to all this “Perrin Goldeneyes” nonsense was beyond his ken. Bloody ashes; Rikimaru had done more fighting than he had during the rescue. Why was no-one trying to make him a bloody Lord? It had to be the  _ ta’veren _ effect that Loial had kept going on about. It was more than strange to find yourself being forced towards some kind of pre-determined fate, with no care for whether you wanted it or not. It gave Perrin a new sympathy for what Rand had been going through this past year.

He found himself in the strange position of having a great deal to do, and yet doing nothing. Mostly he just asked other people to do things that they would’ve done even if he hadn’t been there.

“I can speak to the Whitecloaks if you like, but I can’t guarantee they’ll listen; I have some history with them, too.” said Tam, when Perrin asked him to try and get Bornhald’s men to take the front lines, which they hadn’t done the night of the most recent attack.

“I can’t think of anyone else who could speak to Bornhald and get him to listen. I certainly can’t, and he won’t heed any requests from a Warder.”

“And Rand should stay as far away from them as possible,” Tam added. Perrin was almost certain Rand had told him about being the Dragon Reborn, but Tam, like the rest of them, was keeping quiet on that topic. “Perhaps Geko could help. I’ll bring him with me.”

“Whatever you think best,” Perrin said uselessly. Tam gave him a nod before leaving, and once he’d departed Perrin plopped himself down on the bench outside the Winespring Inn, feeling as pointless as nipples on a breastplate.

Aram had come with Tam, fresh from a training session, but he didn’t leave with him. Instead he hovered near Perrin, as he had taken to doing lately. Perrin didn’t know what to make of that. They were hardly friends, but the Tinker didn’t seem to have many friends left now. His own people shunned him, just as they did the girl, Merile.

One of the surviving  _ Tuatha’an _ women walked by Aram while carrying a load of fresh laundry in her arms. She kept her face fixed straight ahead, as though Aram wasn’t even there, and he did much the same, staring unsmiling at empty space.

While she wouldn’t speak directly to Aram, Perrin was apparently a fair compromise, for she stopped in front of him and spoke without preamble, “It is possible to oppose evil without doing violence.” Her voice held the simplicity of someone stating an obvious truth.

Aram stiffened, and Perrin had the feeling the woman’s words were meant for him, despite having been spoken to Perrin. He grunted sourly, then immediately muttered an apology. “Would it were as you say, Mistress.”

“Violence harms the doer as much as the victim,” she said placidly. “That is why we flee those who harm us, to save them from harm to themselves as much for our own safety. If we do violence to oppose evil, soon we would be no different from what we struggle against. It is with the strength of our belief that we fight the Shadow.”

Perrin could not help snorting. “Mistress, I hope you never have to face Trollocs again with the strength of your belief. The strength of their swords will cut you down where you stand.”

“It is better to die than to—” she began, but anger made him speak right over her. Anger that she just would not see. Anger that she really would die rather than harm anyone, no matter how evil.

“If you run, they will hunt you, and kill you, and eat your corpse. Or they might not wait till it is a corpse. Either way, you are dead, and it’s evil that has won. And there are men just as cruel. Darkfriends and others. More others than I would have believed even a year ago. Let the Whitecloaks decide you Tinkers don’t walk in the Light and see how many of you the strength of your belief can keep alive.”

She gave him a penetrating look. “And yet you are not happy with your weapons.”

_ How did she know that? _ He shook his head irritably, shaggy hair swaying. “The Creator made the world,” he muttered, “not I. I must live the best I can in the world the way it is.”

“So sad for one so young,” she said softly. “Why so sad?”

“That’s none of your business,” he said curtly. He turned his face away and folded his arms across his chest, to cut off any further conversation, but he could feel her looking at him.  _ Sad? I’m not sad, just ... Light, I don’t know. There ought to be a better way, that’s all _ .

Eventually, the Tinker woman let him be. She met up with Min, who was hauling a basket of dirty laundry, and the two exchanged loads before parting. Min didn’t head back in to the inn immediately though; she watched the Tinker leave with a sad look on her face. When she realised Perrin was looking at her, she grimaced and came to sit beside him.

“The Tinker woman is going to die,” she said softly, eyeing the people walking by. None was close enough to hear. “The one we saw just now, I mean. I think her name—”

Perrin cut her off. “Don’t tell me. It’s worse when you know. Far worse.” He knew the names of almost everyone who’d died in the fighting so far, here in the Theren. Even those from up Watch Hill way, like Oren al’Lars and his young wife, Berowyn, who’d died holding on to each other in the raid the other night, had been known to him by name even if they weren’t personal acquaintances. And no matter how hard they fought, he was sure there would be more casualties in the days and nights to come.

“Strange,” Min said softly, “how you seem to care so much about the  _ Tuatha’an _ . They are utterly peaceful, and I always see violence around—”

He turned his head away, and she cut off abruptly. After a minute, she sighed and rose from the bench to carry her burden inside.

Perrin sat there on his bench for a long time, watching life in Emond’s Field and wishing he was more of a part of it. He saw Thad Avin argue with Jon al’Vere until Thad’s wife put a stop to it. Children as young as Kenly Maerin and Jaim Thane ran by, carrying the latest quivers of arrows to the front lines. Uno and the Warders would be out there now, training the Theren men in how to fight in a spear wall. That was something which Perrin had never done and which Uno, maddeningly, had asked his permission before demonstrating. Perrin watched as Ellie Torfinn flirted with a wary looking Tief. He watched, too, as Larine Ayellin smiled up prettily at Rikimaru, who smiled back with a distinct lack of wariness.

The Shienaran armsmen—and the Aiel, for that matter—rarely ventured into the Winespring Inn, but you could always see a few of them loitering around it. They watched everyone who came and went, protecting Rand while granting him a semblance of privacy. He was inside now, doing who knew what. Perrin’s mouth set in a grim line. He might even by visiting Emi again, and taking advantage of her vulnerable state. The man was truly shameless. That shouldn’t have come as a surprise, he supposed. Over the years, Rand had tempted Perrin into any number of things we would not normally have done. He didn’t regret doing them, not really, but it troubled him sometimes.

The hardest part came when the call went up again—Trollocs sighted to the west—and Perrin mounted up on Stepper, knowing he would have to sit there like a great lump and watch people fight. He was still mounting up, and Faile and Dannil and the others were gathering around him, when Rand strode out of the inn, clad in his red and gold coat with his sword and quiver hanging from his belt, his strung bow in hand, and Moiraine hastening along at his side. The Aes Sedai didn’t look happy at having to hurry her steps to keep up with Rand’s long paces, but hurry she did, and Rand showed no sign of slowing down for her sake. He ignored her demands that he not risk himself, even when Lan—who he usually showed much more respect towards than he did Moiraine—weighed in on her side.

Rand strode on by with a stubborn look on his face and a cold intentness in his eyes. He looked like the kind of man who would trample over anything that got in his way; people who had known him for years, even friends like Elam and Tief, moved out of his path when they saw him coming. Rand barely seemed to notice them. Perrin felt unaccountably chilled by the sight, and wondered just how far Rand would go to move anything, or anyone, that ever actually tried to block his path.

It was a larger horde this time, Perrin saw when he reined in on the cleared area behind the stakes. The Trollocs were already coming, running as fast as horses as they charged out from the treeline. Their loud roars, no doubt meant to be intimidating, turned to yelps of pain when they closed to within three hundred feet of Emond’s Fields and the arrows started falling among them in a deadly rain. Flight after flight went up, from hundreds of Theren archers, Rand among them, and wave after wave of Trollocs went down, but the Myrddraal were there, perhaps even linked to the Trollocs’ minds, and the charge did not falter. They left the ground between the stakes and the Westwood covered in their corpses, but Perrin knew that they would reach the stakes this time. His hand went to his axe but Faile’s smaller hand closed upon it and held it in place.

“Don’t. Let your soldiers do their jobs. My father does not ride with the vanguard, and neither should you.”

“They’re not my soldiers,” Perrin growled. “They’re my friends.” But he still sat there on Stepper’s back, secretly hating himself for his inaction.

The Trollocs reached the stakes, as he’d known they would. Tam directed the archers to keep firing, shouting for them to aim for the back lines to avoid hitting any of their own. The rest, those who’d survived that suicidal charge across the field, were left to the barely armoured and barely trained Theren spearmen to deal with.

The stakes slowed them, and even killed some who were unfortunate enough to get shoved onto them by the press of Shadowspawn bodies behind them, but it was inevitable that they would come to grips with the defenders, and that people Perrin knew would start dying. He made himself watch, sickened, as Bili al’Dai’s father and uncle met the same fate Bili had, falling alongside so many others.

Rand’s Shienarans and the Aiel made a solid bulwark against the Trollocs, but they were few and the Shadowspawn many. In was unavoidable that they should break through in other places. He saw Rand drop his bow and run to plug one such gap while Moiraine hissed recriminations at him. On seeing that Rand would not stop, she ordered Lan to accompany him and sent fire surging ahead of them to sweep over the Trollocs they ran towards.

Berin Thane went down. Jaim al’Van. Gar Padwhin. More. An anguished cry of denial sounded from among the archers when Elam’s elder brother, Jonneth, took a Trolloc spear through the gut. Perrin was still sitting there watching when Adine Finngar hurled herself into the fight armed with nothing but a long kitchen knife. He had to move then, and move he did, yanking his arm free of Faile and thumping Stepper’s ribs with his heels.

Adine dress hung loosely from her skeletal frame. She’d been a much bigger woman when they’d left Emond’s Field last year, right after the death of her only child, Ewin. A year of grief had written its tale in the deep lines on her face.

“Get her out of there!” Perrin shouted, but in the midst of the chaos even those who heard him didn’t seemed to know what he meant.

Adine went for the Trolloc that was battering at Tod al’Caar’s newly acquired sword and driving the lanky man backwards. It was so intent on killing him that it didn’t even notice her until she stuck her knife in its back. Then it howled, but in anger as much as pain. The thing had a face that was hideous even by Trolloc standards, seeming to be half horse and half lizard. It spun around and lashed out at Adine with a clawed hand, smashing her to the ground, before raising its sword for the killing blow. It never got to bring that blade down on her though, for Tod’s sword lodged in its neck a heartbeat later. His son Adan had been friends with Ewin, Perrin recalled as he galloped towards them, axe in hand.

For a moment, he’d dared hope that helping to kill one Trolloc would satisfy Adine, but he was wrong. She scrambled to her feet, uncaring of her split lip, and went to the next target.

“My son! My baby! You vile monsters!” she shouted as she hamstringed a wolf-headed Trolloc. As before, it turned on her in anger, but this time the men who’d been struggling with it were too distracted by the melee taking place before them to seize the opening.

“Kill it!” Perrin roared as he heeled his horse forward.

No-one did. The Trolloc rammed its sword through Adine’s chest, killing her almost instantly, and a red rage blinded Perrin to all else.

* * *

Rand heard Perrin howl in fury as he hurled himself from his saddle. The hulking wolfbrother was still in mid-air when his axe crashed into the back of his target, a wolf-headed Trolloc that had somehow driven him into a killing frenzy. The axe rose and fell with a furious tempo as Perrin hacked the thing down. With everything that was going on around him, he couldn’t tell what had set Perrin off. Perhaps it was because of the Trolloc’s resemblance to a wolf. Whatever it was, Rand had problems of his own to deal with.

The press of struggling bodies, both friend and foe, made it difficult to move and limited his ability to execute the forms that Lan had taught him. The sparring ground was a peaceful and orderly place in comparison to the chaos of battle. Too often, Rand was reduced to hacking at the Trollocs before him, his blows driven by strength and determination more than precision or technique. Some of those blows merely maimed his targets instead of killing them, as he was sure they would have if he had room to execute them properly. It was no compensation to see that even Lan was limited by the presence of other fighters so close by. With his movement limited, Rand was acutely conscious of the armour he’d left on the floor of his bedroom back in the inn. He’d have difficulty dodging any stray spears that came his way.  _ Fool! What use is armour if you don’t bother wearing it? _

His Shienaran armsmen were smarter than he was. Every last man—or woman—of them was kitted out in plate and mail from head to heel. They formed a strong spine for the less-experienced farm folk to rally around, and Rand felt more than a little proud at the sight of them.

He felt proud of the Aiel, too, though in truth he had no reason to feel anything regarding them. They were strangers to him still, and their reasons for tracking him down unknown. But the deadly grace with which they felled Trollocs in defence of Emond’s Field warmed him to them in a way he had never expected, given their bloody reputation. Despite the enmity between their peoples, the Maidens seemed to have decided that Areku was almost one of them, judging by how many of them were fighting near her and how quickly they intercepted anything that tried to strike at her blind side.

Rand had gotten so used to the sight of those twisted blends of animal and human features that he was surprised when one of those before him fell to reveal a more symmetrical face. A pale, unsmiling, eyeless, but symmetrical face. Fear ran its icy fingers down Rand’s back.

The Myrddraal’s black blade—forged in the fires of Thakan’dar, the steel itself as virulent as any poison—slashed out at head height and Rand leaned desperately backwards. Blood fountained, obscuring his vision of the creature before him, and for a heartbeat he was sure it was his lifeblood that was pouring out of him. But he felt no pain as he stumbled back out of the press and the flow of blood did not follow him.

He’d know the men who’d been standing to his left and right. Alwyn al’Van had been a friendly old fellow. Unmarried and childless, he’d worked in his sister’s cobbler shop here in the village for as long as Rand had been alive. Eward Congar had been as much a troublemaker as any of his kin, but he’d stood strong against the Shadowspawn in the end. Both men were dead before their throatless bodies touched the ground of their homeland.

“You’ll pay for that!” Rand snarled. Now with room to move, he set his feet and raised his sword in challenge.

The Myrddraal charged him silently.

As he sought the void, Rand almost instinctually began the form called Hummingbird Kisses the Honeyrose. It was usually a good way to halt a charging opponent’s advance, or kill him if he persisted, but why would a Myrddraal shy away from a blade being thrust at its face? It could take the hit and run Rand through in the process, perhaps even surviving to boast of it. At the last moment, he checked himself and hopped aside instead, letting the black blade screech against his own in a way that made his teeth hurt.

_ No more mistakes. Exactly as Lan taught you, sheepherder _ , he told himself as fear and anger disappeared into the calm of the void.

Arrows still whistled down into the Trolloc horde as Rand danced the forms with his Halfman opponent. Their blades were a blur but Rand didn’t need to be able to see the blade to know where the Myrddraal was sending it. The way its body shifted was enough to tell him its intentions, even if the forms it used were not exactly like those that he had learned.

Knowing that cuts to the head and heart wouldn’t be as instantly lethal as they should be, with an opponent like this, Rand concentrated his attacks on its arms and legs. It countered Cat Dances on the Wall with a downward blow that forced him back. Then it came at him with a vicious series of overhand blows that were driven by arms much stronger than the Myrddraal’s lean form might suggest. Rand gave ground at first, before suddenly reversing his momentum, abandoning his guard in the moment between one blow and the next. He surged forward, cutting upwards twice, first on its imbalanced side, then on the other: Two Hares Leaping. His first strike took off the Myrddraal’s right hand, and it shrieked in pain and fury. It kept enough composure to dart aside from his second strike though, and kept a grip on its sword with the remaining hand. Mercilessly, Rand pressed his advantage, dancing around it to attack its weakened side. The figure eight motion of Eel Among the Lily Pads easily dealt with what defence the wounded Myrddraal could muster and took its right leg off at the knee for good measure. It thrust at him as it fell, its eyeless face twisted with hate, but the blow was easily deflected. Cutting the Clouds removed its remaining hand, and a quick reversal of the blade’s edge and bend of his knees allowed Rand to flow right into The Boar Rushed Downhill, bringing his sword crashing down across the Myrddraal’s neck, beheading it cleanly.

All across the line, Trollocs began to howl in pain as they fell to the ground, thrashing, dying. They’d plainly been linked to that Myrddraal and now they shared its fate. Rand accounted that a welcome bonus, but it wouldn’t be nearly enough to win this fight. The Thereners only hesitated for a moment before rushing in to stab the prone creatures, not realising they were—for all intents and purposes—already dead.

Arrows fell amidst the Trolloc horde in a seemingly never-ending rain. Balls of fire bloomed among them, too, cast by the three Aes Sedai. And those that made it through that found themselves beset by the defenders at the stakes. But still they came on.

“A fine kill, Rand al’Thor!” called Atswe, a handsome young Aielman about Rand’s age who always seemed more expressive than the others. “Honour to you.”

“Ah, thanks,” Rand said in response. Stopping the thing from killing anyone else was much more important, so far as he was concerned, but he supposed honour was nice, too.

“The next one is mine, though!” Atswe laughed through his veil. He plunged into the melee, his spear stabbing at Trolloc flesh as quickly as a woodpecker’s beak stabs a tree.

Perrin was pressing the attack just as hot-headedly, Rand saw, now that he had a moment to get his bearings. His friend’s axe made a wide and deadly arc before him, which no Trolloc limb could enter and stayed attached to its owner for long. Dannil and the other youths that followed him were down off their horses, awkwardly trying to fight in Perrin’s defence, and Zarine was shouting for him to get back even while she waved her own blood-stained knives in front of her.

_ I could use  _ saidin _ to help, but ... _ The Aes Sedai. The Whitecloaks. Even his own people. They might well try to kill him if he did. And what would he have to do to stop them?

So instead, he plunged back into the fighting, armed only with a sword.

Rand couldn’t have begun to guess at how long they fought. Time always seemed to him to move differently in the heat of battle. But he was fighting side by side with Lan and Uno when the trumpets sounded.

“Hold! Cease fire! Cease fire!” he heard Tam shouting, though the trumpets had not come from the direction of his archers. Instead, they came from north and south of the battlefield.

It was only when Uno struck a Trolloc’s goat-like head from its shoulders, and its body fell to reveal the uncertainly milling horde behind it, that Rand realised where the sound had come from.

Geofram Bornhald’s Whitecloaks were mounted now; all of them, from the look of it, each with their lances couched, half of them to the north and the other half to the south. Bornhald himself led one of the pincers and at the next sound of his trumpet they spurred their horses to a gallop. Rapidly, they came together, closing a deadly grip upon the remaining Trollocs.

With perhaps two hundred mounted lancers closing in from either side, it was over quickly. The remaining Trollocs died to the last not-man, and the Myrddraal died with them. So far as Rand could see, not a single Whitecloak was even unhorsed.

Loud, triumphant cries of “Huzzah!” went up from the defenders, and Rand found himself grinning in response. Even the Aiel let out an ululating cry.

Breathing heavily and covered in blood, most of which was not his own, Perrin shook his head confusedly at the sight before him. Rand imagined it could not be easy seeing a man who had condemned you as a murderer riding to the defence of your hometown like that. It dulled his own joy at the victory somewhat as well. A lot of good people would want Rand dead, too, once the world learned who and what he was.

His mood was soured even further when he saw Urien and Rhian skirt carefully around a not quite dead Myrddraal to gather a brown and grey clad figure from the ground. The two Aiel carried the very dead Atswe between them as their people gathered silently around them.

Feeling suddenly light-headed, Rand shuffled away from the battlefield, alone.

* * *

Perrin’s heart was torn in a way he could not express, as he watched the Whitecloaks finish off the Trolloc attack. He wanted to feel grateful to Bornhald for riding to his people’s defence, but it was hard to feel gratitude towards the man who was going to preside over your hanging. That he would hang if and when the Trollocs were defeated, he now had little doubt. Bornhald had kept his word and would continue to do so. And when the time came ... so would Perrin. He’d just have to trust to Rand and the rest to bring that animal Fain to the justice he deserved.

Faile was watching him carefully. He tried to avoid her eyes, but even a short glance her way revealed a gaze that was too knowing.  _ I’m sorry. I should never have pretended this thing between us could ever have worked out _ , he did not say.

Moiraine and Alanna walked among the injured, using  _ saidar _ to Heal those whose wounds were the most life-threatening. Their Warders escorted them, and it was plain to see that Bornhald’s charge hadn’t changed Lan’s or Ihvon’s views of the Whitecloaks in the slightest. They kept a careful eye on the lancers as they shadowed their Aes Sedai.

The victorious shouts died down, and the pain that the rush of survival had drowned out began to nag at men’s minds. Groans and hisses issues from a multitude of throats as men eased themselves to the ground, or leant upon a neighbour’s shoulder for support.

Not even a minute passed between the death of the last Trolloc and the women’s arrival. The Mayor and the Wisdom had things well organised, having every bit as little need of Perrin and Faile’s leadership as he’d kept telling them they did. Natti Cauthon and her daughters were among those who rushed out of the village, carrying bandages and sewing kits, empty stretchers and buckets of water and other things. Min was there, too, with Rand’s maids and the al’Vere sisters. And Ila and the remaining  _ Tuatha’an _ —both the men and the women—were among the first to arrive.

Aram had fought bravely alongside Dannil and Perrin and the rest, but at the sight of his grandmother, his face paled and he muttered a half-hearted excuse before walking off in the opposite direction from her.

Perrin hadn’t suffered anything worse that a few minor cuts and bruises in the fight, but Faile still tried to insist he see the Wisdom. He shook his head in wordless refusal and closed his eyes. His hopes of hiding from the carnage were in vain; the image of all those dead Theren men, and a Theren woman—a woman!—were burned into his brain now.

“Where is the First, Shoulders?” Raine asked.

“That isn’t his name,” Faile told her coldly.

Sighing, Perrin opened his eyes, knowing he’d need to step between them before an argument broke out. He hadn’t seen Raine during the fighting, but the blood on her blades told of her participation. Like him, she’d taken only a few minor scratches.

“You should see the Wisdom at once, Raine, and get those looked at,” he said immediately. Faile’s head swivelled to regard him, and her usually full mouth was set in a thin line.

“I’ve been hurt worse by rabbits that were determined not to be supper. I don’t need any healers. Shoulders.” Raine gave Faile a very toothy smile once she’d finished speaking. “Do you not know where the First is, then?”

“If you mean Rand, he’s alive. He went off to mope,” said Min. She strolled by with a bundle of towels in her arms, and plucked one from the top to throw to Perrin as she passed. Or throw at, to be more precise. He caught it before it hit the ground, but not before it smacked him in the face. “You should clean yourself more often, Perrin. You’ve got blood in your beard,” she finished with an irreverent smile, before going on her way.

“Obnoxious woman,” Faile muttered.

“Playful. Like puppy. I like her,” Raine said. “She doesn’t like me though.”

Perrin grunted. “Min’s easy to get along with. And she knows about ... our friends. Speak to her. I think you’d be pleasantly surprised.”

Faile was giving him that look again. Light, but she really did not like it at all when he spoke to or of other women. It was kind of flattering, how jealous and possessive she could get, but it certainly didn’t make life easy.

Raine sometimes had difficulty dealing with people, but even she could sense Faile’s mood. “Going to Merile,” she announced by way of a goodbye, before stalking off in that half-hunched over walk that made her seem even shorter than she was.

Merile was wrapping a bandage around the arm of Athan Dearne, a man so fat you could have made three of her out of one of him. She needed help to do it, and the  _ Tuatha’an _ woman providing that help was the same one Perrin had spoken to earlier. He instinctually took a half step towards her when he saw the blood sheeting down her face.

Min had noticed, too. She’d paused in her circuit to stare at the woman, and there was a grimly knowing look on her face.  _ How? She wasn’t even involved in the fighting. _ Their stares drew Moiraine’s attention the  _ Tuatha’an _ ’s way. On seeing the Aes Sedai approach her, Perrin turned away. Whatever the problem was, there was nothing he could do about it.

There was nothing he could do for Elam either, but he still went to him. They’d been friends once, what seemed like a long time ago. Elam was sitting on the churned dirt with his brother’s head cradled in his lap, scrubbing at the blood on his face with the cuff of his shirt. He didn’t seem to be aware of all the other people staggering about them, attending to the aftermath of the battle.

“Our ma won’t want to see him like that,” he explained when Perrin rested a hand on his shoulder. He sounded dazed. “I never thought ... I never thought he’d ...” Perrin tightened his grip when he felt the other man shiver.

“It’s not like the stories. War is bloody and cruel,” he said sadly.

Elam jerked his shoulder away from Perrin’s hand. “I know that! Stories have happy endings,” he said bitterly.

Perrin stood there for a long while, trying to find the words. But he’d never been very good with words. He was just a blacksmith, not the lord they all kept calling him. In the end, he left Elam to grieve alone and stumbled off through the wreckage of his home.

Min must have fobbed her chores off on someone else, for she was wandering about not far from where Perrin had last seen her, but minus her bundle of towels. She was quick to approach Moiraine and Lan, as soon as she saw the Aes Sedai gain a moment to spare.

“Is the  _ Tuatha’an _ woman alright?” Min asked.

“She is resting.” Moiraine’s low voice had its usual musical quality, as if speaking were halfway to singing, and her hair and clothes were in perfect order, despite the recent battle. For a moment Moiraine’s gaze rested on Perrin, and seemed to penetrate too deeply. “She fell and split her scalp. I Healed her, and she is sleeping. There is always a good deal of blood with even a minor scalp wound, but it was not serious. Did you see anything about her, Min?”

Min looked uncertain. “I saw ... I thought I saw her death. Her own face, all over blood. I was sure I knew what it meant, but if she split her scalp ... Are you sure she is alright?” It was a measure of her discomfort that she asked. An Aes Sedai did not Heal and leave anything wrong that could be Healed. And Moiraine’s Talents were particularly strong in that area.

Min sounded so troubled that Perrin was surprised for a moment. Then he nodded to himself She did not really like doing what she did, but it was a part of her; she thought she knew how it worked, or some of it, at least. If she was wrong, it would almost be like finding out she did not know how to use her own hands.

Moiraine considered her for a moment, serene and dispassionate. “You have never been wrong in any reading for me, not one about which I had any way of knowing. Perhaps this is the first time.”

“When I know, I know,” Min whispered obstinately. “Light help me, I do.”

“Or perhaps it is yet to come. There are many battles yet before us.”

The Aes Sedai’s voice was a cool song, uncaring. Perrin made an involuntary sound in his throat.  _ Light, did I sound like that when I spoke to Elam? I won’t let a death matter that little to me _ .

As if he had spoken aloud, Moiraine looked at him. “The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills, Perrin. I told you long ago that we were in a war. We cannot stop just because some of us may die. Any of us may die before it is done.”

Perrin dropped his eyes.  _ That’s as may be, Aes Sedai, but I will never accept it the way you do _ .

“Speaking of the war,” Moiraine continued, “where is Rand?”

Min pointed off towards the bank of the Winespring Water. “He went that way.”

Perrin had noticed Tam coming their way, his bow serving as a walking staff. He came close enough to hear just as they began to speak of Rand.

“Did you notice if he was hurt?” he asked.

Min’s scent grew instantly wary at the sound of Rand’s father’s voice. “Hi there,” she said, with a too-bright smile, “He looked fine wh—healthy, that is—he looked healthy when I saw him. I don’t think that Fade even came close to touching him. He sliced it into ribbons.”

Lan nodded approvingly, but a concerned frown briefly spoiled Moiraine’s ageless mask. “Show me where you last saw him, Min.”

They hadn’t far to go. Rand was seated on the bank of the stream, pensively watching the water flow by. He had his arms folded before him, hands under his red coat. He did not appear to notice their approach. Min sat down beside him, but he did not move even when she laid a hand on his arm. Even here Perrin smelled blood, and not only his own.

“How high was the butcher’s bill this time?” Rand said abruptly.

“Too high. It always is,” Tam said. “But you still have to pay it.” Lan nodded again at that.

“Not always. I could have ended that fight early. I could have burned them all. But I didn’t. I just let everyone die.” Rand’s bitter whisper was difficult for even Perrin to hear, but Moiraine still glanced around her in search of any eavesdroppers before speaking.

“If you had, they would likely have killed you for what you are,” she hissed urgently. “And then you would have damned even those you managed to save today. Do not lose track of the forest while staring at the trees. We have a world to save, not just a few people.”

Rand didn’t respond. But the bitter scent he was giving off intensified. Min rubbed at his arm.

Perrin didn’t much care for Moiraine’s talk. They hadn’t been “just a few people”, they’d been friends and neighbours, with families who’d loved them. “Mistress Finngar died,” he said sadly. “Ewin’s mother. She jumped into the middle of the fighting and I couldn’t reach her in time to save her. Elam’s brother died, too. Trollocs got him.”

Tam sighed quietly, and the look Min gave Perrin was oddly beseeching, but it was Moiraine who spoke.

“And what of you, Rand? Did you take any hurt? Even a nick from a Myrddraal’s blade can be deadly, and some Trolloc blades are almost as bad.”

Perrin noticed something for the first time. “Rand, your coat is wet.”

Rand pulled his right hand from under his coat, a hand covered in blood. “Not a Myrddraal,” he said absently, peering at his hand. “Not even a Trolloc. The wound I took at Falme broke open.”

Moiraine hissed and half fell to her knees beside Rand. Pulling back the side of his coat, she studied his wound. Perrin could not see it, for her head was in the way, but the smell of blood was stronger, now. Moiraine’s hands moved, and Rand grimaced in pain. “ ‘The blood of the Dragon Reborn on the rocks of Shayol Ghul will free mankind from the Shadow’. Isn’t that what the Prophecies of the Dragon say?”

“Who told you that?” Moiraine said sharply.

“If you could get me to Shayol Ghul now,” Rand said drowsily, “by Waygate or Portal Stone there could be an end to it. No more dying. No more dreams. No more.”

“If it were as simple as that,” Moiraine said grimly, “I would, one way or another, but not all in  _ The Karaethon Cycle _ can be taken at its face. For every thing it says straight out, there are ten that could mean a hundred different things. Do not think you know anything at all of what must be, even if someone has told you the whole of the Prophecies.” She paused, as if gathering strength. Her hand slid along Rand’s side as if it were not covered in blood. “Brace yourself.”

Suddenly Rand’s eyes opened wide, and he sat straight up, gasping and staring and shivering. Perrin had thought, when she Healed him in the past, that it went on forever, but in moments she was easing Rand back to the ground.

“I have ... done as much as I can,” she said faintly. “As much as I can. You must be careful. It could break open again if ...” As her voice trailed off, she fell.

Rand caught her, but Lan was there in an instant to scoop her up. As the Warder did so, a look passed across his face, a look as close to tenderness as Perrin ever expected to see from Lan.

“Exhausted,” the Warder said. “She has cared for everyone else—as has Alanna—but there’s no-one to take their fatigue. I will put her to bed.”

“There’s Rand,” Min said slowly, but the Warder shook his head.

“It isn’t that I do not think you would try, sheepherder,” he said, “but you know so little you might as soon kill her as help her.”

“That’s right,” Rand said bitterly. “I’m not to be trusted. Lews Therin Kinslayer killed everyone close to him. Maybe I’ll do the same before I am done.”

“Pull yourself together, sheepherder,” Lan said harshly. “The whole world rides on your shoulders. Remember you’re a man, and do what needs to be done.”

Rand looked up at the Warder, and surprisingly, all of his bitterness seemed to be gone. “I will fight the best I can,” he said. “Because there’s no-one else, and it has to be done, and the duty is mine. I’ll fight, but I do not have to like what I’ve become.” He closed his eyes as if going to sleep. “I will fight. Dreams ...”

Lan stared down at him a moment, then nodded. He raised his head to look across Moiraine at Perrin, Tam and Min. “Get him to his bed, then see to some sleep yourselves. We have battles to fight, and the Light alone knows what happens next.”


	69. Questioning Beliefs

CHAPTER 66: Questioning Beliefs

Rand didn’t think he needed support to get back to the inn, but when Tam put his shoulders under Rand’s arm, he didn’t resist. He refused to lean his other arm on Min though, despite her kind offer. There were people watching them, and a man had to have his pride.

“You never told me about this unHealable wound,” Tam said quietly.

“Didn’t I? Eh. It’s not a big deal.”

“ ‘Not a big deal’. Bloody downcountry oaf,” Min muttered under her breath.

“Your friend has a good head on her shoulders, Rand,” said Tam, bringing a blush to Min’s cheeks. “A wound that even Aes Sedai can’t Heal is not something to be dismissed. Has it broken open like this before?”

“No. It hurts. Sometimes only a little, sometimes a lot. But this is the first time it’s started bleeding like that,” he admitted reluctantly.

His father sighed. “That’s bad. That’s very bad. If that thing could just start bleeding at any time, then you could die before any of us even realise you’re in danger. And even if someone noticed the blood, if there was no Aes Sedai nearby to Heal you, you could die anyway.”

Min took his arm more insistently this time. Rand would have had to wrestle with her to get her off him, and he had not the heart to do that.

“Moiraine is there ... usually,” Rand said. He had to admit, he was troubled by Tam’s words. All his efforts against the Shadow could come to nothing if he bled out at a random moment. But what could he do to prevent that? Moiraine and Nynaeve hadn’t been able to completely Heal the wound, and he doubted anyone else could do more than they could. So all he could do was to press on and hope that the next time the wound broke open, there was a good healer nearby. That meant Moiraine or another Aes Sedai. Rand winced. The last thing he wanted was to surround himself with Aes Sedai, but if the choice was between placing himself in their hands or dying before Tarmon Gai’don could be fought, then it was no choice at all.

They entered the Winespring Inn silently and found it almost empty. Marin and the rest were mostly out dealing with the aftermath of the battle, leaving Emi propped up alone in a comfy chair by the fireplace.

“Are you hurt, Rand?” she said when she noticed him leaning on his father.

Rand straightened hastily, not wanting to worry her. “Not even a little bit. I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.”

“The Trolloc attack was defeated, Emi. We’re safe for now,” Tam said in that steady and controlled way he had, that always made Rand feel calm.

Emi shrugged dismissively. “That’s nice. So, what are you doing back here, Rand? Come to spy on me, have you?”

Tam’s creased face remained as placid as ever, but Min narrowed her eyes at Rand suspiciously.  _ Blood and ashes, Emi! I thought this thing was supposed to be our secret _ .

Emi smiled in a way that almost made Rand think she could read his mind. Min left Rand’s side and went to plop down on one of the other chairs near Emi, while Tam turned to Rand and looked him over carefully. If they’d been back on the farm, Rand might have thought his father wanted some relief, but Tam always avoided such entanglements while they were in Emond’s Field.

“You should get something to drink before going to bed, Rand. You lost a lot of blood back there,” Tam said, calmly but firmly.

He took his father’s advice and made his way to the kitchen, where he knew there was always a pitcher of water to be found. He was filling his cup for the third time when a small noise drew his attention. He could tell that it was just Scratch, the al’Veres’ yellow tomcat, but he still craned his head to see what had disturbed him; Scratch was usually as quiet as a ghost.

Merile looked up at him sheepishly from the other side of the kitchen table. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, feeding crumbs of bread to the cat. With her big green eyes, she looked half a cat herself. He smiled down at her.

“What are you hiding down there for, Merile?”

She ducked her head. “They don’t need me out there anymore. I think it’s over. Do you think it’s over?”

Rand hesitated briefly, but decided not to lie to her. She wasn’t a child, even if she sometimes seemed more girlish than her years. “We’ve stopped them for now, but this fight won’t end until that Waygate is sealed.” And perhaps not even then. If one of the Forsaken learned that Rand was here and came for him ...  _ I can’t stay here. Should I have gone for the Waygate in person? I’ll have to, if we go much longer without word of Loial and Gaul _ .

“I hope it’s over soon then. There are so many people being hurt.”

“There are,” he sighed. “And there would be more if not for the Aes Sedai.”

“I saw Alanna and Moiraine working. It’s wonderful, the things that they can do with the One Power. It almost makes finding out I’m a channeler as well seem not scary.”

Rand raised an eyebrow at her. “Almost?”

She nibbled at her lower lip. “Almost.”

Rand finished his water as he walked around the table, then set the cup down before sliding down to sit on the floor beside Merile. He still felt a bit weak and tired, but not so tired that he could ignore Merile’s distress.

“I suppose it must seem like you’ve been swept over a waterfall lately. Becoming one of these ‘Lost’ and having to leave your clan so soon after a tragic loss. Learning you could channel and would become an Aes Sedai. How are you feeling?” He could well recall being swept over a similar waterfall.

“I’m afraid. I’m nervous and confused,” Merile said with unhesitant honesty. She pulled the cat into her lap and turned to face Rand directly. “I’ve never had to leave my caravan before. I don’t know much about the big cities, or the people that live there. I was never that good with people. I don’t think I’ll do well there. I always say the stupidest things.”

“A year ago I knew next to nothing about those cities myself. This is my home town and as you can see it’s not exactly huge. So I know at least a little bit about what you’re worried about. And I don’t think it’ll be as bad as you fear. You’re a nice, likeable girl. If you just be yourself, I’m sure you’ll make lots of friends.”

She smiled shyly. “You think I’m nice?”

“You’re adorable. But if you don’t know that already, I’d have to agree that you’re a bit on the silly side,” Rand said with a small smile.

Merile laughed softly. “Thanks.”

“Is it always done this way? When  _ Tuatha’an _ girls learn they can channel, I mean.”

“More or less,” she allowed. “They all have to abandon the Way of the Leaf and go to the White Tower, but usually the caravan goes there with them, to deliver them and give them time to say goodbye. With the Aes Sedai being right here, though, I didn’t ...”

“They really won’t talk to you at all?” Rand said quietly, after the silence stretched too long.

Merile nodded miserably. “It’s our way. It doesn’t mean they don’t care about me.”

Rand held his silence, though it was not easy. What value a tradition that would call for parents to shun their daughter mere days after their son was murdered? “I’m sorry,” was all he could manage, weak consolation that it was. “Traditions can be such foolish things at times,” he said sourly.  _ Like killing a male Darkfriend, while letting a female one go free? _ A traitorous part of his mind asked. Rand silenced it firmly. That was different.

“I ... I kind of liked it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, sorry. The Way of the Leaf. Living in the wagons, travelling all over and seeing the forests and the rivers. It was nice. I don’t really want to burn things. Aaand I’m rambling again, sorry.”

He punched her lightly on the knee. “Stop worrying so much, you’re fine.”

“That was violent,” Merile said, frowning down at her not-very-battered knee.

Rand cocked his head at her, not quite sure if she was being serious. “Well, since you’re one of the Lost now, you can thump me back if you like. I suspect my knee could take it.”

He was a little relieved at the sight of her smile. “I don’t want to.”

“Well there you go. I mean, the way I see it, if you don’t want to stop following the Way of the Leaf, then you don’t have to. Even if your fellow Tinkers won’t let you stay with them and you have to go to Tar Valon instead, it’s still your choice what you want to do and believe.”

“But what if they tell me to fight. Then I’ll have to,” Merile fretted. “They’re all so ... bossy. Even Alanna. She tries to be nice, but she’s eager to hurt the Trollocs, and the Whitecloaks. And she agrees with you about the Way of the Leaf being silly. She wouldn’t let me keep it. Actually, don’t you want me to abandon it, too? I thought you hated the Way.”

Rand frowned. “I don’t hate it. Peace is a good thing. I just don’t think it’s the best thing. Peace certainly won’t stop the Shadow from killing us all. But if you want to follow that creed, then that’s your right, so far as I’m concerned. It’s not like the Way of the Leaf hurts anyone. It just doesn’t help them much either. In my opinion, at least.”

Merile rested her chin on her cupped hands, and Scratch abandoned her lap in protest at the sudden movement, shooting a single, imperious look of condemnation her way before sauntering off. “Following the Way of the Leaf when I’m all by myself, with the Aes Sedai telling me to do different. I’m not sure I could. My knees would turn to jelly just trying.”

“Wait. Is that why we’re down here on the kitchen floor? Are you hiding from the Aes Sedai?” Rand asked suspiciously.

“Um, no? Definitely not? Ever?” Merile said, with an expression so nakedly shifty she’d have gotten herself thrown in every dungeon from Fal Dara to Muselhelm. She sighed. “Well, maybe just a little. Please don’t tell them? You won’t, will you?”

“Of course I won’t. I wish I could hide from them sometimes myself. Besides, we’re friends. And more than friends. So far as I’m concerned, anyway.”

He already knew that Merile had a beautiful smile, but she demonstrated it again. “Really? I’d like that. I don’t have many friends, but I’d definitely want you to be one of them.” She sat up straight, eyes widening. “Oh, not that I’m saying that I want you. Well, obviously I do. You already know that. Unless you forgot me? I meant right now. Um. I’ll just stop talking now.”

Rand laughed. It seemed a strange thing to do to a woman you’d slept with, but he reached out and ruffled Merile’s hair. “You really are the cutest. And you’ve given me an idea.”

“What kind of idea?” Merile said, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Well, this table won’t shield you from the Aes Sedai for long. They’ll have you back in their rooms, doing ... whatever it is they have you doing, soon. But I know somewhere they’d never find you ... My room.”

“I thought that was where you were going,” Merile said. He couldn’t tell if she was pleased at the invitation, or at having figured out his not-very-subtle code. “Hmm. What would we do there?”

Rand smiled at her. “Whatever you wanted to. And nothing you didn’t,” he said quietly.

Merile bit her lip and blushed prettily. “Could we go now?”

Suddenly, Rand didn’t feel very tired or light-headed at all. He sprang to his feet and offered her his hand. “Oh yes.”

Merile took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. He led her out of the kitchen and through the common room, avoiding the eyes of the three people still gathered there, and climbed the stairs two at a time. He only looked back when he reached the door to his room, and when he did he found a smiling Merile hurrying along behind him.

She pushed the door closed again with her butt once they were inside.

“You should be safe now. The Aes Sedai never come here,” he said.

“Aw, that’s sad. Will I?” Merile asked, straight faced.

Rand couldn’t help but laugh. “I certainly hope so.”

She came to him with her arms outstretched unabashedly, expecting a hug, or more. He gave her one, her head pressing against his chest as he squeezed her delicate shoulders. It was nice, but he wanted more. Rand had to bend low to seek out Merile’s lips, but it was well worth the reward. She kissed him back without hesitation, as though she’d been waiting patiently for him to do it. It was her that pushed him back towards the bed, and her that clambered atop when he fell onto the soft mattress.

They kissed and cuddled for some time but kisses along could not satisfy Rand, as the straining bulge in his breeches testified. The way Merile started grinding against his hip made him suspect that was true for her as well.

Still, even energised by Merile’s touch, the loss of blood left Rand more weary than he would usually have been in such a situation. He didn’t think he’d be capable of anything too strenuous. So he kissed his way down Merile’s neck while pulling at the laces that bound the front of her blouse. By the time he’d moved his mouth low enough, her sweet little breasts were waiting for him, peeking out from between the partings of the bright yellow fabric. He kissed his way around one of them while he squeezed the other in his hand; his lips spiralled slowly but surely inward, bound for her straining nipple. Merile gasped when at last they reached their destination, and her legs rose to either side of Rand almost instinctually.

He mapped her nipple with his tongue, only moving again when he was satisfied that he knew her completely.

When he freed her blouse from the waistband on her skirt and pushed it upwards, Merile moved quickly to rid herself of it completely. Her cheeks were flushed, her nipples erect and she looked gorgeous, but Rand was too busy kissing his way down her flat stomach to get more than a brief look at the rest of her. The curves of her waist and hips flowed between his hands, and her belly rose and fell slightly with each panting breath.

When Rand moved to rid Merile of her skirt, her hands found his, not to bid him halt, but to eagerly help push them over her hips. They freed her of her underwear at the same time, exposing the dark triangle of hair that lightly covered her mound, and the slender legs that he knew would soon part for him once more, when he was done sliding her skirts down over them.

Soon Merile was lying completely naked on Rand’s bed, staring at him expectantly with those lovely green eyes of hers. He smiled and put his hands on her knees; they parted for him at once.

Rand lowered his face towards Merile’s exposed sex. He liked the sight of her, the smell, the way her he could feel the heat of her arousal as he drew near. He liked the taste of her, too, when he kissed her lower lips. But above all he liked the sound of her voice, raised in appreciative pleasure as he let his tongue explore every inch of her, mapping her body once more.

She was already very wet down there, but she soon grew even wetter. Merile rested a hand upon Rand’s head, not forcefully, but gently encouraging. He smiled against her sex. It was hard to imagine Merile being rough with anyone. She was such a sweet girl.

Her shuddering breath spurred him on. He slipped a finger inside her hot pussy, to stroke the places his tongue couldn’t reach. Instead, he used his mouth to tease her shy little bud out into the open, and once it had shown itself fully, began sucking on it just as he had her nipple. Merile’s cries of pleasure grew loud then. Rand added a second finger and crooked them both just so, beckoning the Tinker girl towards him, hoping she would come.

And come she did. “Oh merciful Light!” she cried as she writhed on the bed. He kept fingering and licked her as best he could, but her wild motions threw him off and soon he was forced to sit up and watch as the orgasm ran through her. It was far from a burden, for Rand loved the sights and sounds that were revealed to him. “Oh ... oh ... If this is my time to fall, I do so gladly,” Merile moaned, not long after she’d finished squirming.

“I never killed a woman with sex before. Is it that dangerous? Should I stop?” he teased.

Merile’s eyes snapped open. “No! Definitely not. That would be a right shame, that would.”

Rand eased himself down onto the bed at her side. “That’s a relief. The last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt you.” Not that his desires in that regard mattered much, given what the Kinslayer had done.

“I believe you,” she said, smiling brightly. She turned onto her side and cuddled against him. “I think I could do it, too. Not as good as you, but I think you’d like it. Can I?”

She watched his face, waiting for a response that Rand was momentarily too stunned to give. No-one had even asked for permission to do such a thing for him before. He couldn’t help but feel that the permission’s granting was a foregone conclusion. And yet, he was undeniably endeared that she would ask first. He stared at her for a while, and stroked her cheek with his fingers before responding softly. “I’d like that.”

Merile grinned at his words. She sat up and began ridding him of his clothes. He let her undress him, adjusting his weight to help as she stripped away his coat and shirt and breeches, but otherwise lying still. When he was completely naked, Merile sat on the bed near his waist and took his by now very hard cock in her small, gentle hands. She smiled at him shyly, before bending down to touch a hesitant tongue to his shaft.

Rand sighed in satisfaction, even from that brief touch. She raised her head long enough to grin at him, before going back to her ministrations.

Merile went slowly, using her hands as much as her tongue to explore his private parts. She cupped his balls in one hand and squeezed them ever so gently. She pressed the shaft of his cock against her soft cheek, and licked hesitantly at the sticky head. Her movement paused for a bit then, and he could hear her licking her lips consideringly, but before long the tongue came back, moving less hesitantly now.

The bed shook slightly as Merile adjusted her position. When Rand looked down, he found her lying between his legs with his cock held steady in her hand. She looked up at him and maintained eye contact as she ran her tongue up and down his length.

“Merile,” he groaned. “You’re really good at that.”

“Aw. Really? Thanks so much!” she chirped. “I bet you’ll like this even more!”

Rand groaned even louder when he felt her lips close around the head of his cock. The wet heat of her mouth enveloped him and her soft tongue pressed against his sensitive flesh as she began to suck. She was up on her knees by then, to get a better angle, and he could see her pretty, pale bottom poking up into the air as she attended to him with her sweet mouth.

Merile didn’t take very much of his length inside her, but she used her hands to fondle and pleasure the rest of his cock. He was almost certain it was the first time she had ever done such a thing, and the added intimacy and trust that showed just made her ministrations feel all the sweeter. He wanted to prolong the experience, and so tried to resist the orgasm he felt building inside him, but he soon knew that it would not be denied.

“Merile. I can’t hold it in. I’m going to come,” he gritted.

She slid her mouth off of him in order to speak, though her hands kept stroking his cock. “You did like it! I hoped you would,” she giggled. “I didn’t really know what to—” Her words and her smile both ended abruptly when Rand came in her face.

_ I’m sorry, Merile, I tried to warn you _ , he thought, as pleasure drove the capacity to speak from his body.

White come splattered Merile’s cheeks and mouth and nose. Some even shot up and landed in her dark hair. She wailed in wordless shock as the hot, sticky fluid struck her face, too surprised to pull away at first, and by the time she thought to do so she was thoroughly covered in his seed.

Her shoulders slumped. “I made a mess again. I always do that. Uh oh.”

She looked so morose, with his come dribbling down her pretty face, that shame tried to muscle its way past the relaxing pleasure that had Rand feeling as though he was floating above the bed.

“It’s my fault. I should have warned you sooner. I’m sorry that you got all messy,” he mumbled.

“That’s okay. It’s just like sticky water. And I’m glad you liked the stuff I was doing. Is there a towel in here?”

“The washbasin’s over there,” he said, pointing languidly.

As Merile hopped from the bed and went to clean herself off, Rand stretched in satisfaction. He felt like sleeping but refused to let himself, not while there were still things he needed to say to her.

“Merile, when you were watching the Aes Sedai Heal people earlier, did you see the way they did it?”

“It was incredible. They just put their hands on people and their wounds closed up right away. I wish I could do that.”

“So do I,” he sighed. Rand had no idea how to Heal either, or even if he had a Talent for it. Elayne had told him that you needed to have a Talent to even be able to form the weaves for that. She didn’t, much to her dismay. She’d also told him that it took a while before a newly awakened channeler was able to see the various threads of the One Power, and judging from her response, Rand suspected Merile was too new to it as yet to have learned by watching. It was a pity. He’d much rather have trusted her to Heal him than one of the Aes Sedai.

When Merile spoke again, her voice came from much closer. “Are you going to sleep now?”

Rand cracked an eye open. She was standing by his bedside, her faced clean now, naked and beautiful with a questioning look in her eyes.

“I think I might, yes,” he answered.

“Oh. I suppose I’ll be going now then,” she said, without moving from her spot.

Discretion was Rand’s watchword but he found himself reaching out to take her hand. “You can stay here with me it you like. There are even spare pillows this time, if you want to use them.”

Merile smiled. “Well if you don’t mind, then neither do I.”

She climbed onto the bed and pulled a blanket over them both. Despite the presence of those spare pillows, it was Rand’s chest on which she rested her head. She cuddled up against his side, her silky warmth brushing against his skin, as he drifted off to sleep.


	70. Anna

CHAPTER 67: Anna

The arrow flew wide, missing the target by at least a foot. She fumbled another arrow from the quiver, only managing to nock it on the second attempt, her hands were shaking so badly, then drew and fired. It flew wide, missing the target by a least three feet. She reached towards the quiver again, but by then it was too late.

“I’m sorry, but you’re dead now,” Anna said. She’d been keeping a count in her head, ever since the first arrow flew. A Trolloc would’ve crossed the gap between them and the bundled straw that made up their practice target by now, and their bows weren’t much use up close, as she knew from personal experience.

Loise al’Vere sighed as she lowered the boy’s bow they’d borrowed from the Maerins, in whose pasture they had set up their shooting range. She wore her hair in a stubby braid that barely reached the tops of her shoulders, and was quite pretty, if in a reserved sort of way. Anna had always thought her a bit cold when they were growing up, but now that she had gotten to know her better, she and Loise had proven to have much more in common that she’d realised.

_ I wonder what people thought of me back then. Did I come across as sour and unfriendly? Do I still? _ She’d always assumed that the slight distance she’d felt between her and the rest of the Theren folk was because of her refusal to follow the “proper” traditions, but maybe it was something else. A lot of the things she’d assumed about herself and the people she knew had been proven false in the past year, so why not that, too.

“It’s harder to do it when you have to rush,” Loise said.

Anna nodded. “But you will have to. Rush, I mean. You rarely find an enemy that just stands still. You’ll need to lead them if they move to the side, and hit them quickly if they come at you.” She flicked a glance at Loise, looking for some sign of offense on her face and finding none. That wasn’t too reassuring though. Loise had always been a hard girl to read. “Ah, all of that stuff will come with practice. It may seem hard now, when you are trying to carefully fit the arrow to the string and measuring the distance in your head, but after a while that will all become second nature to you.”

She grimaced. Anna had never been that good at making friends. She’d always told herself it wasn’t that important, and it wasn’t, not really—there were much more important things to worry about. But still. There were times back then that she had wished she could be as sociable as other girls. Now, she mainly wanted to avoid losing those friends she had. Including Loise.

So she was a good bit relieved when Loise smiled at her instead of putting her chin up, the way her little sister would have if Anna, or anyone else, had implied they knew better than her.

“I hope so,” she said, hefting the bow. “I haven’t used one of these in ages. I used to sneak off to the Westwood to shoot at tree trunks, and, ah, just between us, that was much more recently than my mother would like. I wanted to hunt some rabbits, but I could never find any.”

“I only know how because my papa taught me,” Anna said. Bran al’Caar hadn’t been a woodsman even when he was young. She couldn’t imagine him teaching anyone, even if he had been one of the few Theren men who thought woodscraft and archery suitable skills for a girl to learn.

Loise nodded. “What about you, Sara? Who taught you to shoot?”

Unlike Loise, Sara had lived up to Anna’s first impression of her. Withdrawn and awkward, but with a good heart underneath. She hesitated before answering Loise’s question. “I learned a little from my uncle. He’s dead now. The rest I learned from trying.”

Lean of face and body, Sara watched them both carefully as spoke. She was watchful by nature, Anna had come to realise. She’d often caught the woman watching her in particular, though she always looked away as soon as their eyes met. It was strange. She was used to being the quiet one in the group, but with these two she felt almost talkative, and never mind that she was the youngest of them, if only by a few years.

“Your mother didn’t approve either?” Loise said. She took Sara’s silence for an answer. “It’s foolish, in my opinion. Look at what happened the other day. All the men were shooting, or fighting with spears, while most of us women, other than you two, stood back and watched. I’m not saying we should be out on the front lines like those crazy Aiel—I mean, look at what happened to poor Mistress Finngar—but we could pull a longbow as well as anyone.”

Anna nodded fierce agreement. It was such a relief to meet another Theren woman who saw it like she did. “Exactly! But try explaining that to the Women’s Circle. They’ll be all, ‘it’s not the way a woman should behave, fighting is men’s work, grow out your hair and use your mother’s name or we won’t acknowledge you as a woman.’ Bah! Bloody traditionalists!”

She scrubbed a hand through her own hair as she ranted. It was as short as any boy’s, and shorter than some of them she’d met. Between that, her heavy-jawed, square face, and her overly muscular body, she knew she was a long way from being most men’s vision of beauty. That was another thing she’d always told herself she didn’t care about. And she didn’t, not really ... except when she did.

“It’s all well and good talking about traditional values when there are no Shadowspawn trying to eat you, but in times like these? I think a bit less stubbornness and a bit more adaptability would go a long way,” Loise said. Sara nodded her agreement.

Anna would have taken it further than that. She’d stopped caring about traditional values as soon as the Women’s Circle told her she wasn’t allowed to use the al’Tolan name, despite the fact that there were no al’Tolans left in the whole Theren except her and her father, and that he had raised her all by himself. That had been a life-changing experience for her. It had taken all of her stubbornness to refuse them, and when she’d run out of words to argue with, she’d resorted to folding her arms and staring above their heads in silent refusal. That had become her life afterwards. She’d watched, silent and stubbornly apart from it all, as people passed her by, going about their lives. She’d judged, too. And not always kindly. Comments that had been taken as normal once, came to seem jarring and offensive to her. Every time she heard someone point out that males were the inferior gender, for example, she couldn’t help but feel as if it was an indirect insult being levelled against her father, and so reject such words utterly. It had left her feeling isolated from her fellow Thereners. Until now.

“I think we should gather like-minded women, arm them and train them,” she announced. It was something she’d been thinking about for a while, but hadn’t had the nerve to say before.

Neither Loise nor Sara objected to the proposal. “How do you want to go about it?” Loise asked. They waited for Anna to respond, which made her feel a little dizzy all of a sudden.  _ What just happened? _

“Well ... We should probably start with anyone you think might be inclined to see things as we do. Get them on side; give a good account of ourselves in the next attack. Others might be persuaded to join us after that.”

“Makes sense,” said Loise. “There might not be that much time for practice though.” Her smile was half a grimace. “Not for them, or for me.”

Anna slapped her lightly on the shoulder. “That’s no problem. When the Trollocs are bunched up as much as they were yesterday, you don’t need to worry about accuracy. Just shoot into the general area, and avoid shooting when any of our own folk are too near.”

Loise looked reassured. “So who should we start with?”

Anna shuffled her feet uncomfortably. Loise was an al’Vere. She might not be the most talkative of the sisters, but she still knew everyone in Emond’s Field much better than someone like Anna ever had. Why was she asking her?

“I could speak to my cousin Franca, I suppose. She’s never lacked for nerve.” Though she valued tradition a lot more than Anna did. That would be an interesting conversation. She was almost sure Emi Aybara would have joined them, but for her injuries, since she’d always been an energetic and adventurous sort, and easy to get along with. It was a pity. “I know Joanne al’Meara was taught woodcraft by her father. Nynaeve said so, though apparently Joanne didn’t enjoy it as much as Nynaeve did. I don’t know if he taught her archery as well but she might be worth speaking to. The Cauthon and Candwin women are good candidates, too. They’ve already had some recent brushes with death, so they know the dangers we’re facing.” Anna hesitated. It was a morbid thought that had occurred to her, but it held a truth she, of all people, couldn’t deny. “And then there are the women who’ve lost loved ones to the Shadow. Ellan Dowtry, Doral Thane and the like.”

Loise nodded. “I can help you gather them if you want.”

“Ah, thanks.”  _ I’m gathering them? _ “What about you, Sara? Do you know anyone from near Watch Hill that might like to take up the bow?”

Sara shook her head morosely. “Sorry. I really don’t know much of anyone.”

Anna put on a smile, for her sake. “That’s alright. I’ll talk to them about it, and see if anyone shows a promising attitude.” Strange how that prospect didn’t make her feel even remotely shy, as it once would have.

“Who should I speak to?” Loise asked.

“Ah, Joanne al’Meara, maybe? Do you know her at all?” Anna didn’t, but she knew that Nynaeve didn’t get along with her, and so wanted to keep her distance. Nynaeve had, somewhat to her surprise, proven to be a good friend. It would be best to avoid getting caught in the middle there.

“Well enough. I’ll go see her now, unless there’s anything else,” Loise said, and waited again.

_ Blood and ashes! Am I the leader now?  _ She’d never been the leader before. She’d followed Rand and Perrin and the rest all over Valgarda, and been quite content to just keep an eye on them and help out where she could. But neither of them seemed interested in doing something like this. Even if the women would have listened to them, which was doubtful.

“Thanks, Loise,” she said, gruffly. “Let’s meet up again back at your mother’s inn. Sara ...”

The other woman grimaced. “I suppose I could go check up on Emi. Though she seems to have recovered well since the Aes Sedai Healed her.”

Truthfully, she had a hard time picturing Sara recruiting people. Anna didn’t scorn her for that, but she did feel a little sorry for her. “She’d welcome the company, I’m sure.”  _ Assuming Rand isn’t already keeping her company, the incorrigible cad _ . “But we could use some more arrows, good ones for the fights to come, and cheap ones for practicing with. You know the fletcher, could you go speak to him for us?”

Sara brightened at being given a task. “I could do that.”

“Great. Thanks. ‘Til later then, girls.”

The two other young women smiled at her as they waved goodbye, then hastened off over the green field towards the nearby town, where men and boys could be seen drilling for war.

Loise had taken the bow with her, but Anna went around to the front door of her cousins’ house anyway. She let herself in and followed the sound of voices through the neatly furnished house towards the kitchen, where she found little Kenly sat at the table with chalk and slate before him, doing sums with his father, Nical. He and his wife Franca were both her cousins on her mother’s side, though they had a decade or so of seniority over her.

Nical glanced up at Anna’s arrival but he waited for his wife to speak. That was pretty usual for him. He always deferred to Franca, though unlike with Rand or Mat or the like, he never seemed to mind being the lesser half of the couple.

“Thanks for the bow. I hope you don’t mind if we keep it a little longer,” Anna said.

Franca set the dish she was washing aside and sniffed. She was taller than Anna, prettier and more slender, though she was even less endowed in the chest department. “Are you trying to talk Loise al’Vere into joining you among the archery line?” she asked, her face sternly serious. She was no fool, Franca.

“I am. It’s a foolish waste to have so many potential archers just standing around watching while Trollocs try to break into the village and kill everyone. Loise wants to help fight. I hope she won’t be the only one.” There. Straight to the point. The Maerin women had always had a reputation for being like that, and despite her insisting on using al’Tolan, under Theren law, Anna’s true name was Anna Maerin. Like her mother, Franca had never been shy about telling Anna that, but she hadn’t brought it up since they returned from outside. Anna was glad of that. It made it much easier to get along with her kin.

Franca studied her silently for a time. Then she untied her apron, lifted it over her head and hung it across the back a chair. “Nical. Once you’re finished there, see to the rest of the dishes and then make sure Kenly gets his dinner. I’ll be back later.”

“Yes, dear,” Nical said without hesitation. Though he was shorter and thinner than most Theren men, he’d still been among the archers that Tam al’Thor commanded during the battle. While his tougher, more assertive wife sat and watched.  _ Foolishness _ .

“Where are you going, Franca? To tell the Women’s Circle on me?” Anna asked, jaw set.

Franca sniffed. “Don’t be a woolhead, cousin. When you are right, you are right. Show me to these women archers of yours.”

Anna was surprised. “Just like that?”

“Of course,” said Franca, and she sounded as if she meant it.

Anna couldn’t help but smile.  _ Straight to the point indeed _ . “We’re all going to meet up at the Winespring Inn. There are some other people I want to talk to, but if you’d rather go ahead, that’s fine.”

“There is something I’ve been meaning to talk to the Mayor about, actually. I’ll meet you there,” Franca said.

They walked each other to the edge of the Maerin land before parting ways, and as she watched her cousin stride off towards the centre of town, Anna felt pleasantly light-hearted.  _ That was easy. Much easier than I had thought it would be _ . She smiled as she turned her feet towards the Cauthon place nearby.

Trollocs had burnt Mistress Cauthon’s house down a year ago, but she had rebuilt in the time since. Other than the newness of the wooden walls and thatched roof, it looked just as Anna remembered. Theren folk were stubborn that way. She’d hoped that stubbornness would bring them around to her way of thinking, but Natti proved her first disappointment.

“You expect me and my girls to go out there and try to pull on a longbow? Don’t be ridiculous, Anna. Abell and Eward will take care of that.”

Eldrin nodded in support of her mother, though Bode ventured to ask, hesitantly, if the bows were hard to use. Her mother stamped out her query before Anna could respond, proclaiming that Bode needed to rid herself of those thoughts and remember her manners, whatever that meant. Bode got a sulky, angry look on her face, and Anna had the feeling she’d blundered into a family squabble. She decided to beat a hasty retreat. If there was one thing she hated, it was family squabbles. She lingered just long enough to ask Mistress Candwin—who was visiting with her kin—if she or her daughters would like to join them for archery practice, and got a firm no in response. From Ailys at least. Her elder girl, Darea, just blinked at Anna uncertainly. She’d always been a quiet, bookish sort, and Anna hadn’t really expected her to come. The younger daughter, Imoen, had a very different character, and looked as though she wanted to say something, but one look at her mother’s face was enough to convince her to stay silent.

Anna had never been that close to the Cauthons and Candwins. Mat was Rand and Perrin’s friend, but not really hers. She didn’t much see the appeal of smirkers and scoundrels in general. Nice, responsible men were much more to her taste. She’d heard plenty of women giggle over the wicked things scoundrels could do for them, but Perrin and Rand hadn’t a wicked bone between them, and she seriously doubted any scoundrel could surpass the kind of things they’d been able to do to her body. But even so, they were friends of friends, so her good mood was a little dimmed by their rejection. Not only that, they’d been one of the easier meetings, at least in her imagination. Speaking to a bunch of grieving widows and daughters and sisters was going to be much harder.

But speak to them she did. And in the end, she got more volunteers than she expected to, some surprising and some not so surprising.

Anna was a bit disappointed that Alsbet Luhhan had refused to help, but despite frowning thoughtfully for a while, the impropriety of it all had been too much for Alsbet to accept.

Ellan Dowtry and her young daughter had turned her away, but Doral Thane agreed to come, and brought both her daughters with her. Corin Ayellin and her daughters came, too, and never mind that Corin was still walking with a pronounced limp, and Milli kept looking down at her hands as though surprised to see them.

Rhea Torfinn had refused her, something which seemed to pain her more than it did Anna. The woman had hesitated a long time before giving her answer, her lined face creased even further by her frown. But in the end, she’d decided on tradition. Anna had thanked her for her time and then let herself out, saying nothing of her daughter Jancy, who’d died in the raid last Winternight. Rhea’s youngest sister, Ellie, hadn’t hesitated at all before agreeing to come, which wasn’t really surprising, given Ellie’s reputation.

Every last one of the al’Caars showed up, from greying Nela to her grinning young niece Jerilin. Jeri had always been an outgoing and boisterous sort, always up for a laugh or a game, so her presence was no surprise to Anna, who welcomed her warmly. None of the Coles had come, however, nor the Coplins or Congars. Not a one of the al’Vans or Padwhins came either, despite their losses. And of poor Kenley Ahan’s kin, only his handsome aunt Sammi agreed.

The Lewin women had been more divided over Anna’s proposal. Adine and her daughters refused, but Adine’s two younger sisters expressed an interest in taking up the bow, and her only niece, Jillie—Jina’s heir—came along with them. Anna had thought Kimry was on the verge of defying her mother and joining them, but in the end she had ducked her head under Adine’s forbidding frown.

Katerin al’Seen joined them, too, all but dragging her shy young daughter Susa along with her. Her sister by marriage, Melysa Garren, did much the same, though her Casey looked more excited by the prospect of shooting things than Susa was.

She’d gotten help from Marce Eldin, but not her mother. From Murin Barran, but not her daughter. She didn’t bother asking Sascya Aydaer, what with her nursing a newborn, but she did go and speak to her sister and niece, both of whom disappointed her.

Anna hadn’t expected the al’Donels to agree—the family had a reputation for being a bit on the slow side—but Shanin and her daughters didn’t need that much prodding to see things Anna’s way. She came away from that meeting rubbing her chin in consternation, and wondering if that spoke well of her plan, or poorly.

Loise brought Joanne, as agreed, but she also brought two of her own sisters, bookish Alene and dreamy Elisa. And when Sara showed up she had Sari Ayellin and her daughter Lara in tow, each of them carrying half a dozen quivers full of arrows. Sari’s husband Berin had been among the casualties, and her mother was married to the fletcher, so it was less a surprise that they would come and more a surprise that Sara had spoken to them about it. Perhaps a bigger surprise was Imoen Candwin, who Anna found waiting for her on the stoop of the Winespring Inn, with a very self-satisfied smile on her young face. After a short hesitation, Anna decided not to ask her if she’d gotten her mother’s permission to come.

The biggest surprise of all, however, was Min’s presence. Like Anna, the Baerlon girl was a perpetual outsider, but she was much better at making casual conversation with people. Her easy smiles quickly distracted folk from her boy’s clothes and those odd moments when she’d look at them as though she wasn’t really seeing them. She stood with Jerilin and Bodewhin now, chatting amiably about something. Min had never even held a bow before, so far as Anna knew, and she was certainly no Theren woman, for all that Baerlon was about as close to a neighbour as the Theren had. It hadn’t even occurred to her to ask Min to take part in this, but seeing her there warmed Anna’s heart and brought a smile to her face.

All in all, near fifty women gathered outside the Winespring Inn that day, while the sun was still high in the sky. When Anna finally arrived back, with the al’Donels at her side, she took one look at them all and suddenly felt as though she was drowning.  _ What have I started? I can’t teach all these women! _ She wasn’t sure she could teach even one woman. She was a pretty good shot, she was confident of that, but she’d never had to teach anyone anything before. And she certainly hadn’t had to teach fifty-odd women, most of whom were older than she was.

“Hi. Thank you all for coming. We should be able to get started soon, just bear with me a little longer,” she said, so stiffly that she felt her face flush when she finished speaking.  _ Bows. I’ll need more bows. Boy’s ones, for practicing _ . Trying to pull a man’s longbow would just drive them to give up before they’d even built up any muscle. Archery wasn’t easy on the arms or chest, and it certainly wasn’t something you could just pick up and excel at.

Loise and Sara came to join her, as the al’Donels went to mingle with the rest of the recruits. “Tam,” Anna blurted suddenly. “Tam would know where to find a lot of bows.” She didn’t think he’d refuse her either. He was traditional enough that he might have, in other circumstances, but not while Trollocs were rampaging through the Theren and the Dragon Reborn—Tam’s own son—was at risk. “Loise, would you mind asking him to give us some? Boy’s bows, mind, not men’s ones.”

Loise shrugged. “No problem. Where are you going?”

“I’m ... going to try and find some help,” Anna said, hunching her shoulders. She wasn’t sure they would even agree to it, but she was very sure that she’d bitten off more than she could chew.

She’d have preferred to go to her friend Areku for help, but Areku didn’t really use a bow much. And that left the Maidens of the Spear.

The Aiel camp was much like the Aiel themselves: present yet apart. Most of them kept to themselves, and the exceptions didn’t seem likely to help her. Chiad and Bain seemed to have become fast friends with Zarine, which didn’t say much of their taste, so far as Anna was concerned; and Jec wasn’t at all shy about dragging any number of different men into a tent or a bedroom. She knew for a fact that Wil al’Seen had entertained her, and she was almost certain Nengar and Tief had, too. That wasn’t much to go on. But who else could she turn to? The other Maidens had barely even spoken to her, or any other wetlander, so far as she had heard.

She supposed she could ask Rand to have a word with them, but she didn’t much like the idea of asking him to help her with this, and she wasn’t even sure they would help her if he did ask. The Aiel protected him, and she was almost certain he was this He Who Comes With the Dawn that they were searching for, but they didn’t take his orders or express much interest in his conflicts here or how to resolve them. Besides, she didn’t like the way they looked at him. As though he belonged to them and not to her—her, and the other Thereners, that was. He’d never belonged to her, not in that way, no matter how close they had been and how much closer they had gotten. Not in this life anyway. In other lives ...

_ Don’t think about that, al’Tolan. Those worlds weren’t real _ . But in some of them ... In some of them, they’d been really happy together.

Anna paused at the outskirts of the Aiel camp, a cluster of low, brown tents on the edge of the Green. It was all such a mess. Not the camp, that was neat and orderly. Her life. Her relationships with the people closest to her. Things might have worked out between her and Perrin, despite the wolves and the Whitecloaks and his affair with Egwene, if she hadn’t walked in on him and Rand, if she hadn’t, in her shock at seeing them like that, agreed to let them ...

Anna’s cheeks blazed. She’d never even imagined doing such a thing before that day, not with anyone. Especially not with Rand—with or without Perrin! But afterwards ... Afterwards she couldn’t stop imagining it. It had felt so good ...

During their most recent stay in a  _ stedding _ it had proven hard not to recall what the three of them had done together on that first visit. It had been embarrassing to ask them, but she’d done it. Neither had refused her, so she’d had them both in her bed, and in her body, often during their stay in Stedding Tsochan. Two tall, strong, handsome young men eagerly probing her every orifice. She trembled to recall how exciting it had been, and how pleasurable. They’d pinned her between them, occasionally swapping her holes around. One memorable evening had found her kneeling between them with Perrin’s cock lodged as deep in her throat as she could take it, while Rand pounded her pussy from behind. She’s lost count of how many times she’d come that evening, before they finally filled her with their cream.

It had been wonderful in some ways, but things had changed between her and Perrin after Rand became involved. They’d repaired their friendship, but that special something that she’d felt growing between them after they escaped from Shadar Logoth together had faded. Perhaps they might have found it again, if that bloody Zarine hadn’t come sauntering into their lives, inviting herself along when no-one even wanted her there, acting as if she owned the place. Literally now! Acting as if the Theren itself was her personal fiefdom!

“Arrogant little chit,” Anna muttered.

It wasn’t just her relationship with Perrin that had changed. Things had gotten pretty confusing between her and Rand, too. They’d grown up as neighbours, both of them children of single fathers, both of them farmers and archers. They’d always gotten along, having so much in common. He’d been her brother, for all intents and purposes, even if they weren’t related at all. She hadn’t thought of him as anything else, and he’d never given her the impression he thought of her as a woman to be desired either. But then they’d done what they’d done, and then they’d done other things besides, and kept on doing them. And now? Now, Anna had no idea what she felt for him. Though she certainly didn’t doubt his desire for her anymore. That he had made very, very clear.

She could hardly marry him though. Or Perrin. Even if either of them had wanted to marry her. With what awaited Rand, he’d probably never get married, the poor boy. And even if he hadn’t been what he was, she wasn’t sure it would work between them. There were so many other women, and at least one man—at least!—who held strings that were tied to his heart. Settling down together on a farm in the Westwood was a foolish thing to dream of. They’d probably have made a funny pairing anyway, what with him being so tall and handsome, and her being so short and plain.  _ He never treated me like I was plain though. He looked on me no differently than he did Morrigan, or Leliana, or any of the other beauties who crossed his path _ . She loved him for that.

No. Rand would be leaving the Theren just as soon as things were settled with the Trollocs and the Whitecloaks. And the rest of them would probably go with him. Probably. Anna and Perrin had always talked about going home, and when they had it had been with the sure agreement that they would never leave again. But Perrin had lost his family and Anna ... she couldn’t abandon them even if she’d wanted to.

_ I’ll have to sell the land _ . She supposed she could always find some nice, hard-working man to marry, and continue the al’Tolan line on the al’Tolan land, like she’d always vaguely imagined doing. But with Tarmon Gai’don on the horizon, that didn’t really seem a good use of her, or anyone else’s, time. She’d offered to pay for her room at the Winespring Inn out of the money she’d make from the sale in the future, but Mistress al’Vere had waved it away. She hadn’t charged any of them for their stays since they came back. Not that Rand or Perrin had offered to pay her, come to think of it. They were both losing sight of the little things, from what Anna could tell. She could help with that. She’d always been good at spotting things that others didn’t notice.

Anna shook herself.  _ Good at spotting things _ , he thought scornfully.  _ Like spotting when you’re standing around woolgathering? _

She marched up to the Aiel sentries, determined to get this done with quickly. As her luck would have it, one of them was Jec, the very woman she wanted to talk to. Jec was more than a foot taller than Anna, and muscular besides, but somehow she still managed to have a curvy and feminine build. Everyone seemed to like her, from her fellow Aiel to the wetlanders they looked down on. Anna didn’t like her though. She’d been one of those who’d picked a fight with her and her friends back in Stedding Tsofu, and Anna wasn’t one for forgiving people who threatened her friends, or made fun of them.

But liking her or not liking her didn’t change Anna’s duty. “I’d like a word with you, Jec.”

“Did you hear something?” Jec’s companion asked. She held her hand above her eyes, as though to shield them from the sun, as she peered intently over Anna’s head.

Harilin, as the companion was called, was another of those Maidens who’d confronted them in the Stedding. She was nearly as tall as Jec, but her hair was red instead of Jec’s gold, and she had a figure that was much less curvy. Like Jec, however, she thought herself funny.

“Oh. So hilarious. That one gets funnier and funnier the more times I hear it,” said Anna, with flat insincerity.

“Here is the answer to your mystery, Harilin. Anna al’Tolan, of the Emond’s Field Theren has come before us,” said Jec, smiling down at her jovially.

Anna wouldn’t have minded being short, not really, if there weren’t so many people in the world who seemed to think it a source of great comedy.

“I doubt there are many people who ever come before you, Jec,” she said snippily. And then immediately regretted saying anything at all.

The two Maidens exchanged blank-faced looks. Their faces remained unveiled, but their spears were in their hands, held as casually and familiarly as a farmer might hold his hoe.

_ This is not a good start _ . Maybe she’d have better luck with the other two, even if they were Zarine’s friends. “So, anyway. What I wanted to ask was if you knew where Chiad and Bain were. I’d like to speak to them.”

Their faces remained expressionless. When Jec spoke, her voice was almost expressionless, too. “Their tent is the one nearest the south. If you wanted to speak to them, you might go there. Perhaps.”

Anna watched her warily. Was she implying she might not live to reach that tent? It was hard to tell with Aiel, they had a reputation for killing people for no reason at all. She kept a wary eye on Jec and Harilin as she eased past them, but neither woman raised a spear. They just turned in place to watch her go.

Other than them, the only Aiel out and about in the camp was an unfriendly youth whose name she had never caught. He watched her with cold blue eyes as she passed, but didn’t say a word.

Anna was relieved to duck into the tent Jec had indicated. She told herself to get to the point quickly this time, and avoid saying anything that might offend. Then she looked up, and the blood drained from her face.

Red-haired Bain was kneeling on the blankets of her bed with some leather straps of some kind tied around her waist and the tops of her legs. She tight muscles of her buttocks clenched and unclenched as she moved. The muscles of her very naked buttocks, that was. She had a firm grip on the hips of the woman before her, a woman with lighter, yellowish hair who arched her back in offering as she rested on her hands and knees. It was Chiad, of course, and she appeared to be enjoying herself immensely. Both of the young Maidens were leanly muscular, and pale where the sun had not touched them. The nipples of their breasts were stiff with arousal, too. Anna got a good look at both pairs—Chiad’s were the larger—when the women turned to look at her in outraged surprise.

The blood that had left her face returned with a vengeance, and brought some friends with it for good measure. “I’m so sorry,” she blurted, lowering her head. “I wanted to talk to you, and Jec said I could find you here.”

Chiad reached back to slap at Bain’s hip, and the other woman pulled back. Something slipped out of Chiad’s body, a smooth wooden something that was attached to those straps that Bain had around her hips. It poked up at around about the place on her body that a cock would be, if Bain had been a man, and it was shaped kind of like a cock as well. A cock that was now slick with Chiad’s juices. Anna had never even heard of such a thing before.  _ Light! What have I walked in on now? _

“Jec. That dog-robbing Nakai thinks she is so funny,” growled Chiad, straightening.

“She will not be laughing when we are done with her, sister,” Bain vowed.

They weren’t armed, but Anna suspected they could kill her with their bare hands as easily as they could with a knife. Neither of them scrambled for a weapon though. She wasn’t sure if that was a relief or not. Dying might have been a pleasant relief from this utter humiliation.

“I’m sorry. Truly. I didn’t mean to peek at you.”  _ Why does this keep happening to me? _

“What do intentions have to do with it?” Chiad asked her ... her lover, quietly.

Bain gave a small, dismissive shrug. “Wetlanders.” She turned to Anna, and her eyes were both coldly threatening and fiercely proud. How she managed to do what while kneeling there naked with a toy cock tied to her fanny was something Anna could not have begun to guess at. “Hear me, Anna al’Tolan. If you were Aiel I would assume this was understood, but you are a wetlander, so I will shame you by explaining. If you speak to anyone of what you witnessed here in this tent, I will help you meet your  _ toh _ by killing you. This is not my will. But if it is what you prefer, I will not refuse you.”

It took Anna a long moment to make her mouth work. “Don’t tell anyone or you’ll kill me?” That was the closest translation she could make. The Aiel exchanged confused looks again. Anna swallowed. She didn’t much like being threatened, but given what she’d done it was hard to fault them for being mad. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise. I-I’ll go now. Again, I’m really sorry for intruding.”

She thought Chiad might have said something else, but her words were drowned out by the rustled of fabric and the rush of the wind as Anna fled the tent. The cool air was a sweet balm for her cheeks, but it was nowhere near enough to prevent them from heating even further when she heard Jec and Harilin burst into laughter from the other side of the camp.  _ Those—those bloody bitches knew damn rightly! _ Harilin said something to Jec, and the other Maiden started laughing even harder.

Anna stalked off, her mission a failure. How many times now had she happened upon people in the midst of a private tryst? Too many was the answer. Once was too many!  _ That’s it! I am knocking on every single door I walk through in future. Or every tent, for that matter, even if I have to build a door to knock on! _

Some of the other Aiel poked their heads out of their tents to see what all the fuss was, but Anna avoided looking at them. She’d embarrassed herself enough for one day.

She didn’t manage to evade them completely, however, for one of the other Maidens came trotting along behind her. She caught up to Anna before she’d gone far beyond the perimeter of their camp, and called out, “I see you, Anna al’Tolan.”

Manners forced her to stop, and turn to face the woman. But they couldn’t make her unclench her jaw, or unknot her brows. “Yes?” she said gruffly.

Her pursuer was one of those who’d come with Urien, an orange-haired young woman whose face was a battlefield between tan skin, sunburnt skin and an army of freckles. She was yet another six-footer and she smiled down at Anna, but it wasn’t the mocking kind of smile that Jec and Harilin had given her. “I am Renay, of the Selan sept of the Shiande Aiel. Why did you come among the tents? Did Rand al’Thor send you to us? I have noticed that you are a near-sister to him.”

She’d never heard the term “near-sister” before, but she supposed its meaning was easy enough to figure out. It was true enough that she didn’t challenge it either. She still shook her head though. “Rand didn’t send me. I was going to ask Bain or Chiad. Or Jec ...”  _ Not that I’ll ever ask that one for anything again! _ “... for a favour, but I’ll just do it without them.”

“What is the task you sought assistance with?” Renay asked.

Anna ground her teeth, and gave serious thought to just refusing to answer, but Renay hadn’t given her cause to be rude. And she could hardly judge her just for being Aiel. Not when her oldest friend and sometimes lover almost certainly possessed Aiel blood himself.

“I’m going to show more of the Theren women how to use a bow,” she sighed at last. “But there are a lot of them, so I thought I’d get some other experienced female archers to help.”

“They mean to take up the spear?” Renay said, surprised, or as close to it as Aiel ever sounded.

Anna frowned. “No. Just the bow. Spears could be useful, too, but they’re more dangerous to use, and better suited to men. More muscles. Ah. No offense.”

This time, Renay’s smile showed more teeth than were needed. “The men often think that, too. Some even live to regret it.” Her smiled faded and she nodded thoughtfully to herself. “This is an honourable task, Anna al’Tolan. I will assist you in it, if you will allow me.”

“Really?” Renay looked a little offended by her hesitation, so Anna hastened to accept. “That’s great! Thank you.”

“I can bring others. Airc is my sister-brother,” she said, indicating the unfriendly youth Anna had seen earlier. “And Rhian and Amindha may agree if I ask them. The others rest.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Anna said slowly, striving for politeness. “but I don’t think the women would allow a man to be there.”

Renay nodded. “We do not allow men to watch us train, either,” she said. “I will not speak to Airc. Are the others acceptable?”

“Any Maiden you could persuade to help me would be welcome, thank you,” Anna said.  _ Except Jec or Harilin anyway. Bitches _ .

Like Anna, Renay was not the kind of woman of whose beauty bards wrote songs, but the Maiden had a pretty smile and a surprisingly friendly way about her. “We will find you,” she vowed.

Anna believed her, too. Despite her unfortunate encounters with the other four Maidens, she left the Aiel camp feeling relieved, and went to gather up her prospective archers. They had a long day’s work ahead of them.


	71. A Matter of Importance

CHAPTER 68: A Matter of Importance

It was a weary group of women that trudged through the streets of Emond’s Field that evening. Everyone except Anna, Sara and the Aiel had been feeling the strain long before they decided to call it a day. She’d had to send the elder al’Caar women home early, when it emerged that neither of them could see clearly for more than a few feet, but the rest had all agreed to come back tomorrow, from the oldest to the youngest. Anna was proud of that.

“I am wrecked!” proclaimed Alene as she rubbed at the muscles of her arms. “I’ll sleep like a log tonight.”

“How is that any different than usual?” her sister Loise teased.

“Excuse me? And how times have I had to roll you out of your bed to get you to do your chores? Quite a few, as I recall!”

Loise objected to that, which brought Elisa in on her side, albeit briefly. Soon she was lecturing both her younger siblings on their familial duties, which inspired them to team up against her and recite a pretty long list of messes that had been left for them to clean up over the years. Anna listened to it all in silence. She’d never had any sisters of her own; she wondered if they all argued like this. Sara and Min looked as lost as she felt. The Baerlon girl in particular: she wore a worried frown and rubbed at her sore hands, as she watched the al’Vere sisters bicker.

The only one of the newly recruited archers who wasn’t staying at the inn and who was still with Anna was also the only one to see nothing untoward in the sisters’ behaviour. “Do you think I could stay at the inn tonight? I wouldn’t make any trouble, I swear,” Imoen said.

“Worried about what your mother will say?”

She looked at Anna sheepishly. “A little. But I’ll try to be there tomorrow, no matter what.”

“Even parents can make mistakes,” Elisa told the girl with a friendly smile. “At times like that you should step in to show them the way.”

“So can I stay?”

“No. Go see your mother, she’s probably worried about you,” Elisa said firmly.

“Aw. I bet Rand would have let me stay,” Imoen sulked.

“Well he’s much too busy adventuring around the world to bother running an inn, so you’ll just have to put up with Mistress Candwin’s slipper.”

“Look on the bright side. Soon your lower half will be as sore as your upper one,” Alene added with a loud laugh. Her sisters laughed with her, their enmity of a moment earlier forgotten already. Imoen didn’t share their amusement.

“Speaking of Rand, where did he learn all that stuff anyway, Anna?” Loise asked. “I saw him fight that Fade. He cut it to pieces!”

Alene nodded. “The most striking part was how unsurprised he looked. Most people would have been afraid, or excited. He just looked calm. In control. As though such a thing was just an everyday occurrence for him.”

It pretty much was. Well, not every day perhaps, but it happened often enough for it to be unremarkable to both her and Rand. Not to these girls though. Anna could remember a time when she’d been that sheltered. It felt like long ago.

“You didn’t answer Loise’s question,” Imoen pointed out, having set her trepidation aside already.

Anna shrugged. “Lan taught him most of it. He spars with the Shienarans as well.”

“The famous Warder,” Imoen said, sounding pleased. “Well I hope you’re as good a teacher. He’s gotten really far ahead, so I’ll need to hurry to catch up.”

“I don’t think you want to run off to the places he’s headed, Imoen. Especially when the Theren needs all the good archers it can get. And you did well out there today. You’ve a good eye and steady hands,” Anna said as they approached the front door of the inn.

Imoen smiled brightly at her praise, but then, changeable as ever, her shoulders slumped. She bid them a morose goodbye before heading off towards home, dragging her feet every step of the way.

Min watched her go. The grim look on her face as she did so gave Anna pause, but she didn’t ask what, if anything, her friend had seen. Sometimes it was best just not to know.

The Winespring Inn was crowded, almost every chair in the brightly lit common room having been claimed by someone or other. They sat around, eating, drinking and talking, and few of them even looked up at the arrival of the six girls. Anna smiled wryly. Rand and Perrin got a very different reception these days. People tended to pay close attention when they walked into a room. She wondered if they noticed that, or if they just took it as normal.

Both of the men in question were present, but they sat at separate tables, eating their supper and chatting with their friends. She hoped they still considered each other among that group, for there had been a bit of a distance growing between them lately.

Perrin had Faile and Aram at his side, along with Dannil Lewin and Abell Candwin, while Rand sat with Uno, Hurin, Tam and Raine. His table was closest to the door, enough for Anna to hear their talk as she passed.

“It’s not a trail, Lord Rand. Not really. It’s like ... like a painter shook his paint off the brush instead of wiping it onto the wall, if you take my meaning. There are little spots of his presence all over the place, but no line connecting them. I can’t explain it,” Hurin was saying. Whatever he was talking about, he sounded upset.

“I’m sure you’ll find him eventually. Keep at it,” Rand said. He glanced up at an apron-clad Saeri, who had approached to refill his cup from the pitcher she carried. “You don’t need to do that, Saeri.”

The girl smiled. “To serve thee is my delight.”

Anna sighed internally as their voices faded into the hubbub. She didn’t quite know what to make of Saeri. On the one hand, her obvious devotion to Rand made her a very trustworthy ally. But on the other hand, she worried that that very devotion might prove to be bad for him. Saeri was almost ...  _ too _ loyal. Not quite Masema levels of crazy, but not that far off it either. If nothing else, she was making Rand a bit too comfortable with the idea of being waited on hand and foot.

The talk in the common room covered a wide variety of topics, from Trollocs to Whitecloaks to Aes Sedai. Anna’s archers got a few comments, too, mostly muted ones, both from those who approved and those who did not.

Zarine’s voice drifted to her ears as she drew closer to Perrin’s table. “... swear fealty to the throne of the nation they marry into. Morgase would understand that. She may even see it as a coup to snag Tenobia’s cousin. I don’t think Tenobia would be quite so pleased to find me claiming a portion of Andor as my seat. Not only would she lose a valuable marriage prospect, but she’d risk the Lion Throne’s enmity. She is no coward, you understand—far from it!—but Saldaea has more important things to concern itself with than the Game of Houses.”

“So you think we should go to Morgase?” said Perrin. “I don’t much like the idea of the Theren being ruled by outsiders.”

“It wouldn’t be. At least not directly. It would be ruled by us, with Morgase as our liege lady,” Zarine explained, sounding as though that was the most natural thing in the world.

It pissed Anna off to hear her talking like that, especially when Perrin just sat there and listened to the tripe she was spouting. Why wouldn’t he just tell her to be quiet, and let things stay the way they were? Before she realised she was speaking, Anna had already blurted out, “We don’t need any queen, or any nobles at all for that matter!”

Talk stilled, and suddenly all eyes were on her. The attention was embarrassing, but she set her jaw stubbornly. Zarine’s arch look didn’t faze her either.

“What’s wrong, Anna?” Perrin asked.

“When is there ever  _ not _ something wrong, where she is concerned?” Zarine said, not quite under her breath. “She’s always finding something new to complain about.”

Perrin gave her an apologetic look, but he didn’t rush to tell Zarine she was wrong. That stung, but Anna drew a deep breath, and when she spoke her voice was steady. “We don’t need any lords, ladies, kings or queens, is what I’m saying. The Theren has gotten by just fine for years—for as long as anyone can remember!—without such things. We pick our own leaders here, and if things don’t work out with them we just pick a new one instead. We don’t let someone tell us what to do just because they happened to be born a Maerin, or an al’Vere, or a Coplin. Or a Bashere. I don’t see any reason to change that.” She snorted. “I’ve been all over Valgarda in the past year, and I didn’t see anything about the nobles that rule the nations that would make me think we were missing out by not having any of our own.”

“No-one’s saying we are. I don’t want—” Perrin began, but Zarine cut him off.

“Then you can’t have looked carefully enough. Who do you think organises the construction of all those great cities you spoke of? More importantly, who do you think organises and leads the war against the Shadow in Saldaea, or Shienar, or the rest of the Borderlands? The nobles do. Would you rather the Trollocs had wiped out all of Emond’s Field, just so you could keep your traditions?”

“We didn’t even really do that much, Zarine,” Perrin muttered sourly. “They would—”

Anna cut him off too, to his visible frustration. “We didn’t need nobles for that! A Mayor could have done every bit as much, and she—or he for that matter! I certainly don’t see any reason a man couldn’t be Mayor. I never have!—but whatever gender they were, they could do everything a noble could, and without ruining the Theren in the process!”

Perrin nodded agreement, but again he said nothing. It frustrated her immensely. Was he afraid to say anything that might upset that hook-nosed chit, Zarine? She certainly wasn’t happy with what Anna had told her, though every word of it was true.

Others were watching them as well. Marin had crossed her arms beneath her breasts and was frowning to herself thoughtfully. She got a nod of approval from Cenn Buie of all people, which was something she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted. Aram scowled at her, Raine looked confused, Tam pleased, and Rand ... Rand wore a wider grin than she’d seen him wear in a long time.

“Makes sense to me,” he announced. “Switching from Mayors to nobles seems like a step backwards, I’ve always thought.” The self-consciousness Anna had been feeling at having so many eyes on her vanished like morning mist.

Many of the gathered folk nodded along to Rand’s words, even some like Marin, who looked surprised to find herself doing so.

Others were not so easily moved. “Well I stand with Lord Perrin and Lady Faile,” Dannil said stoutly. “They’ve led us right so far.”

“The Whitecloaks didn’t respect our Mayors, and I doubt any queen would either,” Mistress al’Van added.

Zarine scowled at Rand openly. Anna had liked it better when she was too afraid to look him in the eyes, or to speak in his company. The Saldaean didn’t voice her displeasure, but a great many other voices spoke at once, all of them trying to drown each other out.

“... better with Lord Perrin.”

“What Anna said ...”

“Rand’s right about ...”

Perrin got to his feet and raised his voice. “None of this matters!” he shouted, and the argument stopped just as quickly as it had started. “None of it matters. We have to protect our people from the Trollocs. Whatever happens after that ... Well, so long as everyone is safe, I’m at peace with it.”

Agreements were forthcoming, some more reluctantly given than others, but no-one was really going to argue with him over that. Defeating the Shadow was obviously the most important thing. Even Anna added her voice to the chorus, saying that of course this wasn’t as important as the Trollocs, it was just something that had been bothering her lately. A thoughtful silence came to reign, where once there had been a babble of overlapping voices.

Rand sat at the table, frowning downwards with his fingers laced before him. It was he that broke the silence, his voice a near whisper, but one that carried.

“It matters. It has to. If we just break everything, if there’s nothing left worth saving, then why bother fighting at all? Just so we can keep existing? Every animal does that. I want ... more. I don’t want to ...” He let out a long sigh, and left his sentence unfinished, but Anna knew what he meant.

_ I don’t want to be the Dragon Reborn. I don’t want to go mad. I don’t want to break the world _ .

No-one gave voice to a response. Those who knew what Rand was talking about watched the uninitiated warily while trying to keep their faces expressionless. Those who hadn’t been let in on his secret mostly looked put off by this sudden grim turn to the conversation. Rand seemed to realise the mood he’d invoked, for he rose to his feet and stepped away from the table. He and Perrin faced each other wordlessly, and Anna had the odd feeling that there was a struggle taking place. Whether it was between her friends, or between two different  _ ta’veren _ , she could not say, but there was a tension in the air that could not be denied.

Neither man lowered his eyes. Rand walked past Perrin and wordlessly climbed the stairs. It wasn’t until he’d disappeared from view that people began speaking again.

“Always was a strange one,” Cenn muttered.

“No respect for anyone, or anything,” Mistress al’Van tutted.

Perrin sat back down, and Zarine immediately began whispering in his ear. Anna made a snap decision to eat her supper in the kitchen, and turned her feet that way, trying not to let her anger show.


	72. Perspectives in Motion

CHAPTER 69: Perspectives in Motion

Anna tossed her coat over the chair, and sat down on the bed to take off her boots. She tried not to think of the things Loise had said while they were eating. It was ridiculous. Not the idea of opposing the changes taking place, that part they were in complete agreement over, but the idea that Anna should be the one to do it. She was no leader. Let the Mayor or the Wisdom do that. Her place was with Rand.

Her eyes were drawn to the door of her bedroom, here in the Winespring Inn. Rand hadn’t come knocking since they’d moved in, and he wouldn’t so long as Raine was sharing the room with her. Had he gone to bed yet? Anna didn’t feel like sleeping ...

The wolfsister was still downstairs, sitting quietly among the men and women who were talking over the argument they’d had earlier. Anna hadn’t liked the scrutiny she’d gotten as she walked past them all, and was glad of the lack of watchful eyes now, as she padded to the door and poked her head out.

The hallway was empty and the door to Rand’s room, off on the far side of the stairwell, was closed.

Anna crept out of her room and down the hallway. Her heart was pounding far harder than she thought it should have been, given how much history there was between them. She actually went down on all fours and crawled past the stairwell, keeping close to the wall, all to avoid anyone seeing her go by to Rand’s room.  _ Why am I so embarrassed about this? I’m a grown woman; I should be able to sleep with whoever I want! _ But she still used only the lightest of taps on Rand’s door.

“Rand! Are you still awake?” She waited, but there was no response to her whispered call. “Rand?” She tapped again. No response. Anna steeled herself and put her hand on the doorhandle, half-afraid she would blunder into yet another compromising situation. She couldn’t help but picture him with Merile or Raine or Areku or any one of the other women she knew who were interested in him. But when she peeked inside, she found the room, and the bed, unoccupied.  _ Where did he go? _

She got her answer while she was creeping back to her own room.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Anna started at the sound of Rand’s muffled voice. It was coming from behind a nearby door. The door to Emi’s room, she realised.

Sure enough, the girl in question’s voice responded to his query. “What? Nah, I’m fine. I'm just happy to see you. Why? Consumed with worry, were you? Couldn’t bear the thought of me laying deathly ill?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. But I do worry about you, Emi.”

“Well don’t! I can take anything the world throws at me,” she insisted bravely.

Anna padded back to her own room, and went to sit in the chair, leaving the door open a crack. She waited impatiently for Rand to finish his visit with Emi. She supposed she could have just gone to bed, or, ah ... taken care of things herself. But she felt as horny as a rabbit in springtime, and after all that had happened today, she really wanted to spend the night with Rand, instead of her hand.

She waited for what felt like a long time, growing increasingly frustrated. Eventually she jerked awake in her chair.  _ Did I doze off? Burn me. _

Anna went to the door and looked out into the empty hall again. Had he slipped out of Emi’s room and returned to his own while her attention wandered?

She padded over and listened at the door again but couldn’t hear any voices. After a minute, she tapped lightly and spoke low, “Emi? Are you awake?” No response. She waited a little longer, then tapped again. “Emi? Hello? It’s me, Anna.”

“Hi, Anna,” Emi called at last. “I was just napping. What’s up?”

Anna dismissed the impulse to open the door. She’d not fall prey to that trap again. It would be even more awkward with Emi than it had been the other times. Emi was a friend. Like Anna, Emi enjoyed—or had enjoyed—the more active pursuits, the kind that most Theren women abandoned once they were past their first decade or so. They were alike in height, too, both of them barely stretching over the five foot mark, and shared a dislike of all the jokes that inevitably came of it. They’d had plenty to say, when it was just the two of them, about those who found such things funny. Anna knew her well, and she knew Rand even better. She wasn’t about to open that door unbidden.

“I was just looking for Rand? Has he been by recently?” she told the wooden planks.

There was a moment’s pause before Emi answered. “Is that so? You were looking for him, were you? And why were you looking for him, hmm?”

“No particular reason. Have you seen him or not?”

“Oohh. I’ve seen him alright. Come on in,” Emi said. Something about the way she said it gave Anna pause, but she pushed open the door anyway, and slipped inside.

Emi was lying on her side on the bed, resting her weight on one arm as the other rested in the hollow of her waist. The way her legs were posed might have drawn Anna’s eyes towards the short stumps just below her knees, if Emi hadn’t been stark naked. A wry smile curved her lips, and there was a very knowing look in her eyes.

Rand was lying on the bed beside her, every bit as naked as she was and already aroused. His long legs almost overshot the foot of the bed, and his muscular bulk made the thing seem crowded, despite how small Emi was.

_ Oh, for the Light’s sake! I knocked this time! _

“You seem a bit caught off guard, Anna,” Emi said coyly.

“There was no need for this, Emi,” Rand said in mild rebuke.

“Pfft. ‘Cause she’s sneaking around looking for you, all soft-voiced like that, ‘cause she wants to chat about the harvest. How much of a fool do you take me for? I’d tell you to pull the other leg but ... you know. You’ve been letting her play with your favourite toy, Rand. You’ve been giving it up for her, you dirty boy.” It was hard to tell what Emi thought about all that. She was smiling, but there was a hardness to her smile.

Rand looked an apology Anna’s way. He didn’t confirm or deny Emi’s accusations, and she doubted he would outside of the most extreme of circumstances. She didn’t expect him to be embarrassed enough to hide his erection from her either, not after all that had happened, but it would have been nice if he’d done it, if only for her sake. The sight of that long, thick, thing, and the memory of how hot and silky it felt, was doing things to her body that she didn’t want to be done just then.

If Rand wouldn’t admit it, then it fell to Anna. She leant back against the closed door and tried to make herself look more relaxed than she was. “Yes, it’s true. We’ve been sleeping together for a while now.”

Emi turned on Rand. “I knew it! There was no way there hadn’t been others—you’re far too sure of yourself. You should be blushing and fumbling, not all ... um ...”

Um indeed. Anna failed to fight off a smile.

“I did tell you this wasn’t a relationship I could commit to, Emi,” Rand said contritely.

“That’s not the same as telling me you’re sleeping with my friend!” Emi looked at Anna curiously. “And why don’t you seem more shocked than you do? He wasn’t checking me for bedsores just now, you know.”

Anna cleared her throat. “I gathered that.” Emi’s breasts were as small as her own, and the way her nipples were sticking out seemed familiar as well.

“And?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but then hesitated. Anna wasn’t as obsessed with secrecy as Rand was—you’d almost think it enshrined in law, the way he insisted on discretion—but she still didn’t feel comfortable revealing other people’s private business. “I won’t name names, but this isn’t the first time I’ve found myself in a situation like this,” she sighed.

“Rand! You slut!”

“I wish people would stop calling me that,” Rand sighed.

“Not fucking everyone we meet might help,” Anna said dryly.

He actually nodded his head in agreement, as though that was a cunning, revolutionary plan. “I had a similar thought lately. I think I’ll try to be more discerning in future.”

Emi snorted. “Ass. You make that sound hard.”

Rand shrugged uncomfortably in response.

“Speaking of hard though ...” Anna followed Emi’s eyes down Rand’s body, where his beautiful cock jutted up to touch his belly button. “What are we going to do about this?”

Anna licked her lips. Nervousness had already gotten her heart beating fast, but suddenly it started racing. Did Emi expect her to break things off with Rand? Or to leave so the two of them could go at it? Or ...

“I think I could pleasure you both, if one of you doesn’t mind waiting,” Rand said, earnestly serious. He looked at Anna. “Perhaps in my room?”

Emi burst into laughter, and shook her head incredulously. “You are not at all who I thought you to be. Neither of you are.” She chewed on her lower lip. “And maybe I’m not either ...”

“I guess I should go ...” said Anna. The idea of waiting her turn was a bit offensive and it made her feel ... competitive, towards Emi in a way she never had before. She didn’t like feeling like that, not towards a friend, but what else could she do?

Emi considered her silently, until a devious light appeared in her eyes. “Say ... why don’t you stay here instead?”

Anna’s heart skipped a beat. “W-what do you mean?”

Emi blushed. “Weell ... you’ve seen me naked and vulnerable. It’s only fair if you return the favour. And the Anna I remember was always fair.”

“You ... you want me to strip for you?” Anna said, crossing her arms before her chest defensively. Emi was much prettier than her, with a slender, if girlish, figure.

“More than that. I want to watch you and Rand doing it,” Emi said. Suddenly, she looked much bolder. Her smile was almost wicked.

“W-what!” gasped Anna.

Rand’s brows were reaching for his hairline. “Blood and ashes, Emi. I’d never have expected that of you.”

“Well you aren’t the only ones who have grown with experience, you know,” Emi said tartly.

“So I see. Well I certainly don’t object to the idea, but I suspect you both knew that already. I guess it’s up to you, Anna. Should we give Emi a show?” Rand smiled at her. There was love in his eyes, and an acceptance of all that she was. He wouldn’t think the less of her, whatever she decided. But ...

“I-I’ve never ... I mean, with another girl watching ... It’s embarrassing,” she said. Her face felt much hotter than she liked. She’d rather no-one ever saw her being so wimpy.

Rand whispered something in Emi’s ear, and the other girl’s big brown eyes widened in surprise. She sat up in the bed, looking more energised of a sudden.

“I’ve always liked you, Anna. You’re tough and independent. And you’re pretty. You’d be pretty even if you dressed and behaved just like all the other girls around here, but you’re even prettier because of the way you are. All strong and healthy. Just the idea of seeing the two of you going at it is getting me all wet. Stay? Please?” Emi said with a frankness that made Anna stare. She was such a nice girl. Anna hoped Rand had been treating her right. Her imagination was suddenly full of images of them entangled with each other. Maybe ... maybe she would like to watch, too. Just to make sure Emi was enjoying herself.

Anna’s tongue darted out to wet her lips. She raised her hands and began undoing the buttons of her shirt, an act that was made more difficult than usual due to the way she was trembling. She didn’t look at either of the people on the bed as she shed her top and began unbuckling her belt. It wasn’t until she heard Emi say, “You have stomach muscles like Rand’s! How’d you do that? I wish I had those; my belly’s all flat and soft,” that Anna looked up. Rand was taking in the sight of her body with the appreciativeness she’d come to expect from him, but it was Emi’s look of excited admiration that made her grin, in mixed relief and pleasure.

“It just comes of hard work and exercise. Farmwork, archery, horseriding and what have you.”

Emi smirked. “ ‘What have you’. Is that what you two call it?”

Rand laughed. “It  _ is _ very good exercise. One of the many reasons I love it.”

When Anna dropped her trousers and pulled her notably damp underwear down over her muscular legs, she felt significantly less self-conscious than when she’d undone that first button. They both smiled at her as she approached the bed, and reached out their hands to welcome her. She took hold of them gladly and climbed into bed with her friends.

She wasn’t sure what to do. She’d shared Rand before, but never with another girl. But it turned out she didn’t really need to do anything. He took charge, clasping her face between his hands and guiding her mouth to his. They kissed softly at first, but within moments her mouth was opening to receive his tongue. Anna closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensations, but she could still hear Emi’s quick breaths coming from nearby.

Rand broke their kiss and pulled her against his chest. He hugged her hard, and whispered in her ear as he did so. “Would you like to be on top, or should I?”

It wasn’t a question of pleasure, she knew. They’d done it both ways and they’d both enjoyed themselves immensely. No, his question concerned her feelings towards their audience, and what Anna wanted Emi to think of her. She pushed back against his chest in order to look into those clear blue-grey eyes, so full of kindness, and wondered for the hundredth time how he could possibly be the dreaded Dragon Reborn. Those prophecies had to be a load of old nonsense.

“Take me. I’m all yours,” she heard herself say. She blushed at her own words, but Rand’s bright smile made it impossible to take them back.

She had to shift her position to let him get up from the bed, and got a good look at his taught bottom for her trouble. A small noise of appreciation escaped her throat, one that she heard echoed from behind by Emi. When he turned towards them, his cock came into view once more. Anna was still staring at it when he spoke again.

“Turn around.” His voice was soft, yet she came to her hands and knees and presented her bottom to him as though bound by the fiercest command. Emi was still sitting on the bed, but her mouth hung open now, and her dark eyes darted all over Anna and Rand’s naked bodies.

Anna didn’t think her cheeks could get any hotter, but then she felt the head of Rand’s cock press against the wet entrance of her pussy. She had told him he could do whatever he wanted with her, and he obviously took her at her word, for he didn’t hesitate to push himself inside her body, his thick shaft spreading her lower lips as his length eased slowly but surely along her inner passage. Anna cried out in pleasure. Dimly, she was aware of Rand and Emi whispering her name, the one in pleasure, the other in surprise.

The hunger and frustration she’d been feeling was thoroughly banished, replaced now by the feeling of being filled with his cock, and the promise of the pleasure it always brought her. He began riding her, each stroke of his cock wringing a small little moan from her lips.

He held her by the hips at first, ensuring his mount could go nowhere, but since she had absolutely no interest in being anywhere but there on that bed at the moment, his hands soon began to wander. He kneaded the soft flesh of her bottom for a good long while, showing her how much he liked the sight and feel of it. When his hands moved on, they brushed over and past her hips to caress the muscles of her back, his fingers tracing them lovingly, before moving around front to knead the even softer flesh of her breasts. She gasped his name then, and heard Emi giggle.

Their eyes met, and the legless girl smiled at her pleasure-addled friend. “You really love this, don’t you? Good. So do I. And you two look just as hot as I’d imagined.” Anna couldn’t find words for her, not while Rand’s cock was pumping in and out of her like that.

Emi got to her knees and moved awkwardly across the bed. She had to put her hand on Anna’s back to keep her balance; unlike Rand’s or Perrin’s, it was small and soft but it didn’t feel bad to be touched by her. Not at all.

“Look at it moving in and out of her. Look at how far she stretches,” Emi said in an awed whisper. She was kneeling at their side, watching as Anna was penetrated. It was embarrassing, being watched like that. But it was also terribly exciting.

Emi giggled, and Anna’s face blazed when she realised she’d started grinding back against Rand. She stilled herself, and refused to feel bad about his disappointed groan.

“Does it feel different from mine?” Emi asked _. Burn me! Where did she leave her sense of shame?  _ Anna liked to think of herself as a freethinker, but even she knew there were some things you just didn’t say aloud!

Rand didn’t even rebuke her. “A little. Some are softer, or tighter. Some deeper, hotter, wetter. But never enough to matter one way or another. It’s all about the person you’re with, and how much you care about them.”

There was only a brief pause before Rand spoke again, this time much firmer than before. “Don’t you dare ask me to compare her pussy to yours.” Anna could easily imagine that little smirk Emi had taken to wearing recently. She heard the other girl giggle, then yelp.

When Anna looked back over her shoulder, she saw Rand pick Emi up by the waist and sit her down atop Anna’s hips. She could feel the girl’s soft bottom and the heat between her legs as both pressed against her skin. Emi was very light, and had been even before she lost her legs, but it was still strange to find herself being used as a chair.

Emi wrapped her arms around Rand’s neck, and began kissing him deeply. He kissed her back but he kept a firm grip on Anna’s hips as he did so, and his cock still moved relentlessly inside her. Some rational part of her mind told her she should be offended at the sight of her lover kissing another woman, but her body betrayed her. Something about this situation just made her feel so hot.

“Rand!” she groaned desperately.

Sensitive to her needs, he reached down between her thighs and began rubbing at the outside of her pussy. Anna clutched at her own breast as she felt it coming, the mind-blowing pleasure she’d come to crave.  _ But Emi’s still on top of me. I can’t ... I shouldn’t ... _ But she did, so explosively that she had to press her face into the sheets to stop the whole inn from hearing her come.

“Hold on a moment,” Rand said.

“Why? And why are you shaking like that, Anna? Am I too heavy? Oh ... OH!” Emi giggled again. “Well, I guess you weren’t lying about what you could do to her, Rand. You’re soaking wet, she’s gushing all over you!” Anna knew she would have been embarrassed at that on any other day, but just then, she was feeling far too much pleasure to bother with embarrassment.

“Light! Don’t just say stuff like that. You’ll embarrass the poor girl. She may seem tough as nails, but she’s got a sensitive side, too. I told you she can be shy at times,” Rand said.

“Shy,” Anna managed to say. Or groan perhaps, if she was being honest. “I’m not shy.”

“I don’t mean it in a bad way. You know I love you.”

She did. But it was still nice to hear him say it. Much better than him telling Emi she was shy. She turned her head again and frowned back at him. “I’m not shy, I said! And I ... I want more. P-put ...”  _ Say it! Don’t be a wimp _ . “... put it in my ass this time.”

“WHAT!?” Emi yelled. Rand put a hand across her mouth to silence her and they ended up staring at each other, wide eyed.

“Keep it down a bit. Unless you want Maigan, or Master al’Caar to come knocking. I don’t think they’d be as ... adventurous as you two.”

“In her ass though!?” Emi said in a fierce whisper, once Rand released her. “Are you sure, Anna? Won’t it hurt?”

“I-I ...” How was she supposed to answer a question like that?

“It’s okay, we’ve done it before. She likes it,” Rand said reassuringly.

_ Light blast you, Rand! Don’t just say stuff like that! Especially not right after telling Emi off for the same! _

Apparently, there were some things that even this new Emi could be shocked and scandalized by. “Reeaally?” she said, drawing out the word.

Anna’s face blazed once more, but she didn’t move from her position when she felt Rand’s cock slide out of her pussy and press against her other entrance. She refused to cry out at the mingled pain and pleasure when she felt his cock, slick with her own juices, pushing at her tight ring. She refused to look back either, though she knew that Emi would be watching intently as Rand’s cock penetrated Anna’s butt. Instead, she took a white-knuckled grip on the bedsheets and tried to make herself relax and submit. One loud grunt did escape her though, when his cock finally pushed past her opening and began working its way deeper into her bowels, stretching and spreading her to make room as he made himself at home in there.

“Light! I didn’t think it would fit,” Emi whispered. “You’re a braver woman than me, Anna.”

_ Such a thing to be complimented for!  _ Anna couldn’t help but laugh. “Um, thanks.”

Rand started riding her again, but his pace was slower this time. He was quiet, too, and when she dared to glance back, she saw why. He and Emi were kissing again, and this time he was fingering her pussy while he buggered Anna. Emi had her hands tangled in Rand’s dark red hair and looked lost in the moment. The bottom she displayed, while sitting on the bench that was Anna, was quite pretty, smooth skinned and pert. Anna had never looked at another woman as an object of desire before, but she found herself wondering what it would be like to squeeze those pretty little cheeks in her hands. If she kissed her, would Emi enjoy it as much as she was plainly enjoying Rand’s kisses?

He moved slowly and shallowly at first, only increasing his pace when she adjusted to his presence inside her, and then in increments, building slowly towards the fierce buggering she knew awaited her. She had given him her trust when she offered herself to him in that way, she’d given him her faith that the pain and discomfort would end up being worth it, and he failed neither trust nor faith.

He wasn’t failing Emi either, judging from the way she was clutching at the arm that was moving between her legs. She certainly wasn’t trying to push him away.

As Rand sped up, their rocking motion became too great for Emi to stay in place, so he picked her up again and pressed her against his chest. He kept no grip upon Anna, seemingly confident that she would remain in place, there on her knees with her ass spread to receive his cock. And she did. Light help her, she knelt there and took it and loved every minute of it. The cheeks she’d been admiring gave way beneath his fingers, the soft flesh remoulding itself to accommodate him. Once he was sure that Emi was safely supported by his arms, he reached between her legs again and began stroking her with his fingers. Anna heard her friend whimpering in pleasure. It was a sweet, sweet sound, and it seemed to spur Rand on, for soon she was getting what she had known she would get.

Anna’s body felt alive with sensation as Rand’s long and thick cock ravaged her ass. It wasn’t just that end that felt good either. As before, the pleasure somehow spread to her neglected pussy, which was now so wet that juices were dribbling down her thighs.

Sweating heavily, struggling both for breath and silence, she felt a second orgasm begin to build inside her. It hovered just outside her reach for a frustratingly long time, and it was only when she heard Emi cry, “Don’t stop! I’m close!” that it finally struck home. Anna clenched her ass around Rand’s cock as she came. Even as she did so, she heard Emi gasping and yelping in her own climax. Rand hadn’t been boasting earlier. If anything, he’d been selling himself short. He hadn’t needed either of them to wait her turn at all.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Rand said, a little breathlessly. He patted Anna’s bottom. “And feel.”

_ Smug jerk _ , she thought, but it was a thought without rancour. She’d rather he was too bold than too meek. Meekness just got you taken advantage of, especially for a man.

She enjoyed the feel of him inside her for a little while longer as she caught her breath, but eventually she felt him pulling out, so she moved in the opposite direction. Her butt was sore, but it was a pleasant kind of soreness, and she was smiling as she fell onto her back on the bed.

Rand leaned over and laid a grinning Emi down beside her. The sheen of sweat on her skin made the slimmer girl almost shine in the lamplight. She was beautiful. Strange that Anna had never really noticed that before.

“You should put your hands behind your head. It makes it easier to catch your breath,” Emi told her before taking her own advice. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath she dragged in. After a moment, Anna did as she said, lacing her fingers behind her head. She was surprised to find that it actually worked.

They were lying on the bed before him with their legs slightly open and the mixed scent of their arousals filling the air. Anna’s hunger of before had been thoroughly sated, but Rand’s had not yet been. She licked her lips, and looked to Emi. “You should have a little taste of Emi’s pussy now. I’m sure she’d like it.”

Emi giggled, while mock-pouting at Anna. “Sure of that, are you? Hmph. Well, maybe I would. Or ... We could ... maybe ... Try it the other way?” She blushed.

Unsurprisingly, Rand looked pleased by that idea. “Are you sure?”

“Well uh, yes. Basically. Anna seemed to like it. So, you know, we could try this to see if it uh ... feels as good as—Oh, blood and ashes!” Emi’s face had gone very red by then. Anna was actually a bit glad to see her so flustered. She’d changed a lot in a short amount of time, so it was nice to see that the old Emi was still in there.

Rand grinned. “Happy to oblige. Show me that cute little bum of yours.”

“Pfft, flattery. It’s barely there at all, compared to Anna’s cheeks.” Laughing, Emi got up on all fours, just as Anna had been a few minutes before. It left the two of them face to face in a somewhat awkward way. Emi smiled shyly, then shook her head over the ridiculousness of the situation.

Anna watched as Rand slipped his fingers into their friend’s pussy and then transferred some of her wetness from one hole to the other. She watched Emi frown over the unfamiliar sensation of a man’s fingers probing her back entrance, swirling around in there and stretching her a little.

“Careful!” she said, and Rand raised his brow.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes, I'm sure! Come on, before I calm down and think too much about it,” Emi said impatiently.

Despite that, and despite all that he’d done already and how aroused he had to be, Rand entered her ass slowly. Emi tensed as she felt him pushing against her tight hole. Her dark eyes, already large, got truly huge and her brows rose to her hairline. She clamped her mouth shut, but small, pained sounds still escaped her.

Anna bit her lip, concerned for Emi, but she didn’t need to say anything.

“Should I stop?” Rand asked.

Emi’s breath hitched in her throat, and it took her a moment to reply. “N-no, keep going. It just feels weird.” She giggled suddenly, a sound at odds with the expression on her face, as Rand worked his way further into her. He grunted in satisfaction as he bottomed out inside her.

After a moment, Emi looked back at him, biting her lower lip. “Are you going to try moving, or are we just going to sit here feeling silly?”

“I was just giving you a chance to adjust,” Rand explained, with more experience than Emi knew.

Emi shook her head. “I don’t think there’s really any adjusting to this, Rand. Try moving. Maybe it’ll feel better?” she said doubtfully.

Rand did as she asked, riding her nice and slow, just like he had Anna, but unlike Anna, Emi didn’t seem to be getting into it. She closed her eyes and bit her lip, but the frown on her face spoke of tolerance rather than enjoyment. He didn’t share her discomfort, judging by the glazed look in his eyes as he fucked Emi’s tight little ass.

He wasn’t so insensitive that he didn’t reach around to stroke gently at the soft looking patch of her between Emi’s legs, while teasing the hard nipple of one breast with his other hand. Emi started at his touch and must have tensed up, because Rand gasped in pleasure. Emi grinned at the sound, and Anna found herself smiling as well.

“Would you mind helping me out here, Anna?” Rand grunted.

She was a bit surprised to be addressed, and so was slow to take his meaning. “What?”

“With Emi. We spoke about it before, remember? You said you wouldn’t mind kissing a girl if it was someone you liked.”

Her eyes met Emi’s, which were every bit as wide as Anna’s own must surely be. They stared at each other searchingly. Emi was a pretty girl, no doubt, and the lips of her small mouth were reddened by passion. Anna wondered what it would be like to taste them ...

“I’m sure Emi wouldn’t want me to,” she said, suddenly flustered.

Emi suddenly moved towards her. “People should be a lot less sure of what I can and can’t do,” she declared, just before she craned her head forward, took hold of Anna’s chin, and planted a kiss on her lips.

Anna wondered about the taste no more, now she simply wondered. It wasn’t really that different from kissing a boy. Perhaps a little softer, but the thrilling intimacy was the same. She found herself holding Emi by the head, fearful that she would pull away, as she kissed her back. She needn’t have worried, for Emi proved to be just as into it as Anna was. Her tongue ventured boldly into Anna’s mouth, so she met it with her own; they danced with each other, and Anna could feel the motion of Rand’s continued thrusting through the other girl’s body.

She opened one eye, to check on him. He was watching them kiss, and there was wonder on his face. Emi’s eyes were closed and her face flushed as her mouth worked against Anna’s. Suddenly, Rand began to speed up and the hand that had been fondling Emi’s sweet little breast now clutched at it.

The kiss ended, and the pained look returned to Emi’s face, but her back arched and a high, girlish cry issued from her open mouth. Anna just lay there, watching as Rand came in an orgasmic Emi’s butt. She briefly wondered what had become of her, but whatever it was, she couldn’t find it in herself to regret it.

Emi’s arms gave out and she fell forward, rather violently disengaging herself from Rand, who winced at having his sensitive rod jerked around like that. Emi’s head came to rest upon Anna’s breast, and that too was something she didn’t find at all objectionable.

“Ow! That hurt at the end!” Emi moaned.

“Sorry. It ... it always hurts most the first time,” Rand breathed. Trembling in the aftermath of his orgasm, he sat down on the side of the bed.

Emi got up, brushing her soft cheek against Anna’s nipple in the process and sending a little thrill through her body. The other girl squirmed into a sitting position, only to wince in pain.

“Hey, Rand.” He made a questioning sound. “We’re never doing this again, okay?”

He smiled ruefully. “Not for you then?”

Emi looked apologetic, but it was Anna whose eyes she met, not Rand’s. “No, I preferred the other way.”

“No problem,” Anna said gruffly. She was not at all sure what to make of the situation.

Emi shifted uncomfortably on her seat.”Well, it was worth a shot, right? And anyway, it was good exercise, right? Light, this feels weird. Good thing I’ve no legs, Rand.”

Rand scrubbed his hand through his hair. “It is? Why?”

“Because, now I won’t have to explain to anyone why I’m walking funny tomorrow.”

Anna snorted a laugh. “It was actually a bit of a struggle for me not to let it show that first time. I was afraid everyone around us would notice and figure out what had happened.”

“Really? You never told me that,” said Rand.

She and Emi looked at each other and then rolled their eyes simultaneously.

“What girl would ever just say something like that, Rand? Honestly!” Emi scolded.

Rand opened his mouth as though he had something important to say, but after a moment’s hesitation, he let it fall shut again. “Never mind,” he muttered.

“And you went back for seconds after that? You’re a lot braver, or a lot crazier than me, sister,” Emi laughed.

Despite everything, Anna flushed. “Well you took it like a trooper, even if you didn’t like it that much. I was impressed.”

“You know, that’s true. I mean I’m pretty amazing, after all,” Emi said with a firm nod.

Rand looked back and forth between the two Theren girls, naked and sweaty and showing all the signs of just having been thoroughly fucked. He smiled happily, looking very self-satisifed, and Anna shook her head.  _ Blood and ashes, how did it come to this? _

“So,” Rand said. “Are we keeping this a secret, or should we all sleep here together?”

“Well, obviously it has to stay between us!” said Emi. “Keep up, Rand.”

Anna nodded. “Bucking tradition is one thing, but can you imagine what people would say about the three of us if they knew?” Rand and Perrin had certainly gone to great lengths to keep their relationship secret. She and Emi would do the same. Anna’s eyes slid towards the other girl. Assuming they had a relationship of that sort. It had just been one kiss, but she thought there had been promises in it ...

“Pity. You both look so smooth and cosy. It would have been nice,” Rand sighed. He got up from the bed, once more flashing them that pretty bottom, and went to retrieve his clothes.

Anna clambered from the bed, too, moving to do the same and accidentally jostling Emi in the process.

“Be more careful, would you? Bumps are not my friend right now,” she said, while partially lifting her bottom clear of the bed.

Rand winced guiltily as he pulled up his drawers. “I’m sorry, Emi. But you did ask for it, you know.”

She scowled at him. “What was it you said before? ‘A gentleman does not kiss and tell’? Well, maybe your new saying should be, ‘a gentleman doesn’t bugger his girlfriend raw while her friend, his other girlfriend, watches!’ ”

Rand looked unsure if Emi was truly angry with him or not, and Anna wasn’t entirely certain of it either, but Emi only laughed at their expressions.

“Go on, get back to your beds, the pair of you,” she said. “I’ll see you both in the morning.”

They fixed themselves up, at least enough to be decent, and padded out of her room. Outside, she and Rand faced each other in stunned silence.

“So. You kissed a girl, and you liked it,” Rand teased.

It was true, but she still frowned at him forbiddingly. “You’re one to talk. You kissed a boy and liked it. Who are you to judge?” She kept her voice low though, not wanting to bring anyone’s censure down upon him.

Rand smiled. “No-one at all. And I wasn’t judging.”

“Hmph. Good.” Not that she had ever really expected him to.

There was still a loud hubbub of voices coming from downstairs, but Anna had no intention of going to join them. She was quite sated, and ready for her bed. “Well. I need to sleep. The women and I agreed to meet up early tomorrow.”

“That was a good idea, by the way. You could double the number of archers we have available, maybe not for the immediate battles, but for the battles to come,” Rand said, then ruined it by adding, “I know I shouldn’t be putting women at risk, but since they’ll be behind the front lines I suppose it isn’t so terrible.”

“Forget about that,” she said firmly. A life was a life, male female, noble or common. Why should one matter more, unless it was someone you loved?

Rand shook his head, and would not meet her eyes. “I should get to bed, too. Sleep well, Anna.”

He took a half step down the hall, but she stopped him with no more than a soft word. “Would ... would it put you out if I stayed in your room tonight?” It was nice sharing a bed. Warm and intimate. And men, she had found, were often ... available, in the morning.

Rand stood in profile, tall and strong and handsome, with his white shirt half-undone and his coat thrown carelessly over his shoulder. He looked at her and smiled as he held out his hand. “More and more, I find I care less and less about what people think of me. All save a select few, that is. The ones I love. If you don’t mind risking people finding out about us, then I would welcome your company, my dearest Anna.”

She took his hand, and together they walked past the stairwell towards his bedroom. She didn’t bother looking down to see if anyone had noticed them.

“I liked what you said to Faile earlier,” Rand told her as they prepared for bed. “I’m glad that there will be someone here who sees things as I do, once I leave. Someone who could fight against the aristocracy’s rise.”

Anna was silent for a time, mulling that over. Only when she’d undressed and climbed under the sheets did she respond. “What makes you think I won’t be going with you? And even if I didn’t, how could I possibly do anything to stop ‘Lady Faile’? Half the village already worships her.”

Rand put his hand on her shoulder as he lay on the bed beside her. “I know you’ve always wanted to come home. And stay home, this time. You should, it would be better for you. And the Theren needs someone like you, someone who sees the way things are going and has the guts to speak out against it. You’ve already made a difference with your women archers. You could do even more good in the days to come.”

Anna settled herself against his side, but despite how tired she felt it was a long time before she was able to sleep that night. She had a lot to think about.


	73. Lord of the Theren

CHAPTER 70: Lord of the Theren

Rand was late to rise the next morning. Not because he failed to wake up at his usual time, but because Anna woke at that time, too. The bed had been too warm to leave. Her legs had been too strong to escape when she wrapped them around him, her soft moans too sweet to resist as they tickled his ear.

Afterwards, once she’d finished dressing, he’d sent her off with a playful slap on the bottom and a charge to, “Go whip those women into shape.” Her grin had woken the dimples in her cheeks, and she’d let herself out of his room without bothering to check if anyone was lurking in the hallway.

Rand stretched luxuriously before dragging himself out of bed, well satisfied. He dressed to face the day, but decided to pay a visit to Emi before going downstairs. She was awake when he stuck his head in the door, lying under the covers and staring listlessly at the window. Emi greeted him with a forced cheer, and asked him what his plans for the day were, if he knew what was for breakfast, and other innocuous questions. He could tell she didn’t want to talk about what had happened the night before, but he was concerned for her, so he ended up asking anyway.

“Is your bottom still sore? Would you like me to get you something to put on it?”

She stared at him wordlessly and expressionlessly for so long that he began to fear her mind had broken. When at last she responded, it was in a low, incredulous voice. “Of all the questions I never thought I’d be asked, that’s one of them.”

He shrugged in embarrassment. “Well I do bear a little responsibility for your condition.”

“I guess so, huh? Well, since you asked, yes. I’m still a little sore. We’re never doing that again.” She squirmed her way through most of her words, but by the end she had her arms folded across her chest and her girlish chin outthrust.

Rand raised his hands placatingly and hastened to assure her that her poor little bottom was safe from him. They chatted a bit longer before he pled duty’s call and let himself out of her room.

Perrin was up and about by the time Rand arrived in the inn’s common room, sitting with Zarine over breakfast. For a wonder, Moiraine and the other two Aes Sedai had spared the al’Veres and their temporary helpers the need to bring them their meals. The three sisters were cloistered together near the hearth, where a small fire heated the morning air. Merile had come down with them, but seemed to have abandoned their company in favour of Min’s. That was no surprise. As easygoing and cheerful as they both were, they’d gotten along well from the start; in truth, it was hard for him to imagine anyone not getting along with either woman. He certainly enjoyed their company. As he went to join them, he noticed Perrin scowling at him, so cocked his head at him curiously. The wolfbrother said nothing as Rand walked past his table, just stared at him and scowled.

_ Is he really mad that I sided with Anna? I never would have thought him the type to actually want to be a lord, especially not over our own homeland _ . Zarine was studiously not looking at him, as she often did. Rand didn’t like the Saldaean lady much, but Perrin obviously disagreed with him about that, and perhaps about more than he’d ever realised. He didn’t like to think that she had enough influence over his friend to make him buy into this whole aristocracy nonsense.

He stopped just short of the table Min and Merile sat at. It had just occurred to him, but some might have said that Morrigan was as bad, or worse, than Zarine. And others might have wondered at how much influence Moiraine or Elayne were having on Rand’s beliefs, what with all the armsmen and maids he had gathered. The worst part was that he wasn’t completely sure he could say they would have been wrong about either issue.

“Well?”

He blinked down at an exasperated Min. “I said, ‘Do you mind not staring at Merile like that? You’re making her uncomfortable’,” she told him.

Rand even hadn’t realised he’d been staring, and if he had it certainly wasn’t at Merile. But sure enough, the Tinker had lowered her head abashedly. That wasn’t like her. Merile was a bit awkward at times, but hardly shy. “Are you—” he began, but then he turned to glance at the Aes Sedai’s table and found two out of the three watching them with those icy, ageless masks. “Ah. I’ll talk to you some other time, Min. Lan will be expecting me for the morning sparring session.”

But by the time he was done taking his morning thrashing from Lan, they were both gone. Alanna and Maigan scrutinised Rand in a way that would have made him squirm once. Now he just ignored them. As much trouble as they caused, the Whitecloaks’ presence had at least limited the Aes Sedai’s meddling. None of them, or their Warders, stirred from the inn unless there was a Trolloc attack in the works. Even Moiraine had spent most of her time in isolation this past week. He might almost have thought she was keeping watch over the other two.

Saeri brought him his morning meal of bread, ham and milk. She smiled as she laid the tray on the table. “A fair morning to thee, Rand.”

“And to you. Thanks for bringing this. And give my thanks to the cook as well.”

“It was Berowyn. She’s nice. All the sisters are nice, but she’s the nicest,” she said happily.

Rand cut some bread and smeared it with butter as he considered her. “You seem happy here, Saeri. What do you think about staying? Once we get rid of the Trollocs, this could be a good home for you.”

She looked alarmed. “But ... Aren’t you leaving afterwards? I’m your maid. My place is with you.”

“Leaving?” one of the Aes Sedai said, before Rand could respond. “And where would you be planning to go?” It was the Green sister who spoke. Alanna. She rose from her chair, dark and pretty and clad in a fine wool dress that was—of course—green, and approached them. Her study of Rand had gotten oddly intent, but no more so than Moiraine’s study of her.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Rand said unwelcomingly.

Alanna didn’t seem to care if she was welcome or not. “Then let us discuss it. Have you seen Tar Valon yet, Rand? It is—and you may take my word for this, as I have travelled far—the finest city in the world. You would like it there, I think. If you’re good, I’ll even show you around myself.” She smiled brightly and, even knowing what she was, Rand had to admit that she was a good-looking woman, but he still set his jaw stubbornly.

“As famed as Tar Valon’s hospitality is, I’ll have to decline,” he said flatly, thinking of Mat’s long captivity.

Three sets of Aes Sedai eyes focused on him then, all of them catching his double meaning, and none of them liking his audacity. Bandying words, like so much else in their view, was for Aes Sedai alone.

“It is foolish to be so suspicious of us, Rand. You would be wiser by far to seek our protection. The world is a dangerous place. Especially for a young  _ ta’veren _ like you,” said Alanna.

Rand looked around, but only Saeri, Perrin and Zarine were close enough to hear, and they already knew. Alanna smiled knowingly, while Moiraine just watched in silence, her pale face giving away nothing of her thoughts.

“The world is a dangerous place for everyone, and growing more dangerous by the day,” Rand said. “But I don’t see how being  _ ta’veren _ makes me more at risk than the rest of you. It’s quite the opposite, I’d say. The Pattern won’t let me die until it’s gotten what it wants from me. And will take steps to ensure that anyone who tries to thwart its plans come to a bad end. It’s like I heard someone say, one time, I can’t recall who: the Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills.”

That pleased them even less than what he’d said before. “This is what comes of broken homes, with no mothers to manage things,” Maigan announced, tossing her fair hair and pointedly looking away from him.

Alanna looked disappointed, but Moiraine just steepled her fingers before her. “Leave him to me. I will deal with him at a time of my pleasing,” the Blue sister said.

An expression flashed across Alanna’s face. It came and went so quickly that Rand could not be sure, but if she’d been anything other than what she was, he might have called it sulky. Whatever she thought of Moiraine’s claims, she returned to the table as though summoned.

“Someone should,” he heard Zarine tell Perrin in a low voice.

Rand snorted softly. “At least she’s found her tongue at last,” he muttered. Her lips thinned, and Perrin’s eyes narrowed in response.

Rand felt a scowl of his own growing. Perrin hadn’t reacted at all to Zarine’s jab at Rand, but as soon as he mentioned her—very noticeable!—reticence around him, suddenly that was cause for anger.  _ I have to agree with Anna on this one, too. We were better off without that woman _ .

Zarine wiped her hands with a napkin and rose from her chair, leaving her half-finished breakfast on the table. “Please excuse me, Aes Sedai, Perrin. I must speak to the Women’s Circle about organising bucket lines, in the event that fires are spread during the next attack.”

Little Saeri swelled up at Zarine’s very deliberate omission of Rand’s name, but Rand himself just smiled and shook his head. The things people expected him to care about.

Perrin rose when she did, with either exaggerated politeness, or an unwillingness to be parted from her for even a few hours. His yellow eyes were as doleful as any hound’s as he watched her go.

“There’s nothing stopping you from running after her, if that’s what you want,” Rand said. He mustn’t have done a good job of hiding his displeasure, for Perrin scowled at him again. With a low growl, Rand shot to his feet. “I have business to see to as well. Later.”

He stalked out into the morning light. It was cloudy, but he saw no sign of rain as yet. Emond’s Field was abustle with activity, from villagers scurrying about their tasks, Shienarans and Aiel exploring the town they’d long since come to abandon their reticence towards, to volunteers riding out to gather what few supplies had not already been gathered. Those last rode alongside the latest Whitecloak patrol. Where Bornhald sent his patrols, and who led them, Rand had no idea. The Whitecloaks were among them, but unlike the other strangers, they kept themselves firmly apart. In all the days since Perrin made his bargain, Rand had seen not a single Child of the Light venture out of their encampment for any reason that was not directly linked to the Lord Captain’s orders, and those few who did were usually accompanied by Bornhald himself. He looked about, and was glad to see the watchers that Perrin had set still keeping their unsubtle eyes on the camp.

He wondered briefly if he should fetch his swordbelt, but decided not. He wasn’t planning on going far, and the Whitecloaks were not so great a threat as that, not here in Emond’s Field with so many allies all around. So he settled the collar of his coat—white and gold today, perhaps unfortunately—and went to meet with Uno and Geko to get their usual reports. They never had anything to say that Rand felt he needed to know; it was all stuff they were far better qualified to deal with than he was. But Elayne had impressed on him that he still had to meet them and hear them tell him that everything was under control, in order for everything to really be under control. It didn’t make any sense to Rand, but he trusted Elayne’s judgement.

Izana wanted to know if Rand would be inspecting the defences today, a suggestion Rand found very strange, though he was not so rude as to say so. He’d had nothing to do with erecting the defences, and contributed no more to their manning than anyone else. Why would he inspect them? Still, it might be nice to take a little ride around town. Not to inspect anything, but just to see his hometown. He suspected that when next he left, assuming he survived to leave, that it would be the last time he ever saw this place.

Bela was staying in the stables of the Winespring Inn these days; in a comfortable stall all of her own. She was another one who’d be better off staying here. He’d planned to leave her at home with Tam, but home was gone, and the Cauthons had given Tam a fine horse of his own. He was sure the al’Veres would take good care of Bela. And she’d have company here, of both the human and the equestrian kind.

“I’m sorry girl, I didn’t think to bring an apple today,” he said, rubbing her shaggy head. He doubted she wanted for anything really. The Barran twins who worked the stable for Marin were a responsible pair. There was no sign of them today, or of the big Dhurran stallions. He expected they were out moving some of the wreckage from the burnt houses, or helping to clear those trees that were too big to chop into manageable pieces. Still, Bela was an old friend, so he made the offer anyway. “Would you like some hay instead?” She turned her head away from him in such a matronly disdain of that offer that he was almost sure she had understood his words. Rand laughed softly to himself.

“At least one of us is enjoying all this,” Perrin said.

He stood in the main entrance to the stable, clad in his usual Theren style coat and trousers. The light was such that Rand couldn’t really see his face, and it turned his eyes into two little pinpricks of light. His axe hung at his side.

“You’d prefer me miserable?”

“I’d prefer you showed a proper respect,” his old friend said as he approached. Rand stiffened.  _ Proper respect!? Is that more of this lord nonsense? Blood and ashes, he really has let it go to his head _ , he thought, but Perrin’s next words put the lie to that. “People have died, Rand. Good people. It would be nice if you could spare a moment from jumping between beds to acknowledge that.”

Rand swallowed angry words. It wasn’t his family that had been butchered, and trying to claim he could understand Perrin’s grief would have been beyond presumptuous. But still. “I am well aware of the deaths, Perrin. I knew most of them as well as you did, and some I knew better. What do you want from me? Should I spend the rest of my days whipping myself over not saving them somehow? That wouldn’t bring them back,” he said tightly.

Perrin looked away. Underneath that beard he’d grown, his jaw set angrily. “I know that.”

“Then what do you want from me?” When Perrin did not respond, Rand lowered his voice. “I’m dying Perrin. And I want to live as much as I can before I do, or before I go too mad to understand what I’m losing. Is that so terrible? I mean, we’ve always known things were, ah, open between us.”

“It’s not that!” Perrin snapped. “I can smell Anna all over you, but that’s ... that’s just how things turned out. But ... Emi? Really? Emi!? After all she’s been through, you had to go and make things even harder for her. I thought better of you.”

He actually sounded disgusted at the end of that tirade. And through it all there was not a word of response to what Rand had confessed. That hurt just as much as the disgust in his voice.

“Emi is coping with her losses as best she can. She’s stronger than you give her credit for.”

“She’s broken, you fool!” Perrin growled. “She’s given up and is just ... just waiting for it all to be over! And ...”

“And trying to enjoy what time remains as much as she can,” Rand finished. “Is that so terrible?”

Perrin’s eyes went wide. “You know ... You ...”

Rand scrubbed a hand through his hair, wondering what Perrin was so upset about now.

He was still wondering when another hand touched his hair, one that seized it in a painful grip and pulled him farther into the gloom of the stable.

Rand took hold of Perrin’s wrist, in case he yanked out a handful of hair, which it almost felt like he might, he was pulling so hard. “What the hell, Perrin!” He planted his feet, but Perrin dragged him bit farther before they stopped, Rand’s boots leaving a wide track on the dirt floor of the stable.

“You stink of them!” he growled.

“We are not having this conversation. You were there when it started with Anna. It’s a bit late to get jealous. Or is this because you’re all lordly now, and too good for such things? Get your hand off my hair,” Rand said coldly. Blinking, Perrin released him at once. “But since we’re talking about things that stink, would you mind not selling the Theren’s future to some random lady we just met? I’d appreciate it.”

“She’s not some random lady and she didn’t want this! She’s trying to help. We aren’t the ones who started using those bloody titles! Maybe it’s you that’s jealous. You can’t stand not being the centre of attention for once.”

Rand laughed in his face, a face that darkened in response. He’d give anything to just disappear, to be able to live in a world where he was not the Dragon Reborn, and could be free to live a life of his own choosing. And Perrin thought he wanted to rule the Theren? It was too much. “That Zarine is filling your head with nonsense,” he said.

“Her name is Faile,” Perrin said angrily.

“That’s another thing that bugs me. I can’t believe you started using that silly made-up name of hers. ‘Falcon’.” He snorted. “Who calls themselves something like that? If I decided I wanted to be called ‘Magnificence al’Thor’ from now on, would you call me that, too?”

Perrin grabbed him by the collar. “You leave her out of this! Stay away from her!”

Rand scowled. “Gladly. I wish you’d do the same. Or get closer, perhaps, whichever stops you from acting like such an ass!” Perrin flushed, and Rand surmised that his guess had been right. Zarine was holding out for marriage. That was ... almost sweet, he had to allow, however reluctantly.

“Shut up!” Perrin snapped.

Rand’s heart was beating fast, but not from fear. He’d never feared Perrin in his life, no matter how strong he was. The back of the stable was dimly lit, and the door had drifted shut behind Perrin. “Why don’t you make me?” he said, staring him in the eyes defiantly.

A loud rumble rose from Perrin’s chest and he yanked Rand towards him. Their lips touched, and not tenderly. Perrin seemed to be trying to crush Rand’s mouth against him. He’d never kissed a bearded man before. It was odd, much softer and more ticklish than the stubble that came of going too long without shaving; it was quite nice actually, he could understand why Zarine preferred it. It looked good on Perrin in particular. As burly as he was, he suited it somehow.

Rand was the taller of the two, if only by a few inches, and in the mood he was in, Perrin quickly tired of craning his neck up to kiss him.

Growling, he leaned back and ripped Rand’s fine coat right down the middle, sending the buttons flying. His strong hands closed roughly upon the white shirt beneath and he tore at that, too, ripping the fabric easily as he backed Rand up against an empty stall door.

Standing with his chest and belly exposed, Rand went to work on the buttons of Perrin’s coat more carefully, while Perrin attacked the buckle of Rand’s belt. He’d barely undone two buttons before Perrin had the belt unfastened and was yanking Rand’s breeches down his thighs. Too proud to bend far enough to push them all the way down, Perrin set a muddy boot atop the loose fabric between Rand’s legs and used that to force the breeches down to his ankles. He’d never been like this before, but Rand didn’t mind it if he wanted to play rough. It wouldn’t change anything, so far as he was concerned.

There were still a few buttons left, but Perrin pushed Rand’s hand away irritably. “I’ll be that. You take care of the rest,” he said.

Blushing slightly, Rand fell to his knees before him, there in the dark and dirty stable. He freed the axebelt first, letting it fall to the ground with a thud, then undid the one that held Perrin’s loose brown trousers up. The coat was gone by then, and the shirt was on its way to joining it. They divided shirt and trousers at the same time, one going up and the other down, exposing the thickly muscled and thickly haired stomach, the equally hairy and very broad chest, and the thick brown thatch of hair from which Perrin’s hard cock jutted out, straining towards Rand’s face.

Perrin’s hand resumed its grip of Rand’s hair, insistently pushing his head towards Perrin’s crotch. “Suck it,” he gritted. “Get it nice and wet.”

Rand hesitated, a little more put off by the roughness than he’d expected to be. But it was Perrin, and if that was what he wanted, then Rand would do whatever he could to make him happy. As he pushed Perrin’s trousers the rest of the way down, he took hold of his thick cock, hot and throbbing to the touch, and held it steady. Rand opened his mouth and lowered his head over Perrin’s cock, taking it as deep inside as he could, where it began throbbing even more. He sealed his lips to the tender flesh and began sucking on his old friend lovingly.

He heard a shuddering hiss of satisfaction from the man standing above him, so he began bobbing his head along his length, while running his tongue back and forth across the bottom of Perrin’s shaft. The hand in his hair tightened its grip, and Perrin’s hips began moving in time with the bobs of Rand’s head, fucking his mouth as he’d so often fucked his ass.

Rand knew Perrin was going to want to bugger him, and he’d already decided he would let him, so he got the other man’s cock as wet as he could, slavering upon him and rubbing it all over with his lips and tongue.

Strong hands closed on his shoulders, pushing him back. “Enough,” Perrin said gruffly. He half-pulled and half-pushed Rand onto his hand and knees, facing the door of the stable, while he shuffled around behind him, his movement made awkward by the trousers and smallclothes still tangled around his heavy boots.

Rand seized  _ saidin _ , and filled himself with the One Power. With it, he could do almost anything. Burn the stable, shake the earth, call lightning from the sky, throw Perrin through the walls. He used it to bind the door with bars of Air, in order to prevent anyone from walking in on them. Then he released the Power and waited there with dirt coating his knees and the palms of his hands, waiting for Perrin to fill him with something else entirely.

Prepared as he was, Rand still gasped when the light fabric of his smallclothes shredded between Perrin’s hands. He didn’t just tear a parting, he shredded the short braies such that they fell from Rand’s body in strips, leaving his bottom completely naked and his stiffening cock dangling beneath him.

“That’s what I like to see,” Perrin grunted. He knelt behind Rand, lined himself up, and shoved his cock against Rand’s ass roughly. Rand fought the instinct to resist, or to wince or cry out at the sudden discomfort and pain. He took Perrin’s cock in silence, arching his back when he felt the thick head pop past his outer defence. The rest of the shaft slid into him more smoothly. Perrin didn’t stop his rough penetration until his balls were pressing up against Rand’s. “And feel,” he added.

He wasted no time before he began fucking Rand in earnest, his hips slapping up against Rand’s bottom as his cock pumped in and out of his ass. It hurt a little, despite all he’d done to get Perrin ready, but Rand still found himself smiling, simply because of how obviously into it Perrin was. He was usually much more reticent than that.

“You’ve gotten all commanding suddenly,” he said, and despite himself, a light moan punctuated his words. “Would you like me to call you ‘Lord Perrin’ as well?”

“Shut up,” Perrin repeated, but his pace increased even more, and Rand, who was enjoying teasing him, spoke on.

“You liked it when I sucked on your big, lordly cock didn’t you? I bet you’d like it if someone walked in that door and saw us like this, too. Or maybe the lord would be embarrassed at having his secret lusts exposed.”

Perrin gathered the torn remnants of Rand’s shirt and coat and used them to pull his arms behind his back. He bundled them all up and held them tightly together as his cock continued to ravage Rand’s now almost numb ass. “Stop talking. And I’m not a lord,” he told the man held in place before him, his weight supported only by his knees and the cock lodged in his butt.

“Yes, my Lord Perrin,” Rand groaned.

The movement of Perrin’s hips became frantic, the quick slapping sounds filling the stable just as Perrin prepared to fill Rand’s ass with his seed. Rand was nowhere near ready to come himself yet, but that was fine. He was happy with being the vessel for Perrin’s pleasure.

“And why would I be the one embarrassed?” Perrin groaned. “You’re the one taking it. My Lord bloody Dragon indeed.”

Rand closed his eyes. “Yes, but I already know everyone is going to scorn me, fear me, and hate me. There’s only so much value in delaying the inevitable.”

Perrin’s hand closed upon Rand’s hair once more, as his thrusts became erratic and his breath hitched in his throat. He pulled Rand’s head back, arching his back even further, until his beard brushed against Rand’s shaven cheek.

“I wish it wasn’t ... I wish you weren’t dying,” he said softly, and with those words, his come surged out of him, his hot seed pumping into Rand’s body again and again, just like the now-still cock it came from had been doing. Rand took it in silence as well.

Despite everything that had passed between them lately, the quarrels and disagreements, their differences over the Theren’s future, the relations disapproved of—on both sides—Rand found himself profoundly moved by Perrin’s words. It might be only the meanest scrap of affection, but it was an affection he hungered for deeply.

The hands that held his arms and head in place relaxed their grips, and the man behind him sat back on his heels, the thick cock still lodged in Rand’s soiled ass pulling him back as well, until he found himself sitting in Perrin’s hairy lap. The remnants of his finery fell forward to shield his hard cock from sight.

They knelt there, joined together, for a few minutes longer. The stable rested in silence save for their slowing breaths and the curious wickers of the horses, until Perrin’s voice disturbed it.

“Sorry if I hurt you. I got a bit carried away.”

“I forgive you. And I’m glad you don’t want me dead,” Rand admitted.

Perrin sat still for a moment, but then his arms came around Rand’s waist and he pulled him back against him. It took Rand a moment to realise that it wasn’t sexual this time. Perrin was hugging him. “Light, Rand. Don’t be glad about that. That should be just the way of things. Find something more to be glad of. You deserve it.”

A tingle ran through Rand’s body, one greater than any their coupling had invoked. He didn’t trust himself to speak, and the opportunity to do so passed too soon. Perrin lifted him up off his softening cock and shuffled out from under him, leaving Rand kneeling there alone.

He didn’t dress at once, instead he just sat in the dirt and watched Perrin pull up his trousers, hiding his thick legs and wet-looking cock from view, before crouching to gather his axe and shirt and coat. He was still sitting there when Perrin finished dressing and looked down at him, curiously rather than angrily.

“If Za—If Faile is the one you choose, then I hope you are happy together,” Rand said, with a wan smile.

Perrin grinned through his beard, and actually shuffled his feet in embarrassment, an act so bizarre, after what they had just done, that Rand found himself laughing softly.

“Thanks,” Perrin said gruffly. “You’ve always been a good friend.” So saying, he strode towards the stable door. Rand seized the Source long enough to undo the blockage he’d erected, and let Perrin walk free. We wished it didn’t feel so much like goodbye.


	74. Aunt Marin

CHAPTER 71: Aunt Marin

A few days’ practice hadn’t been anywhere near enough. Min’s arms shook before she got to her tenth arrow, and it took a teeth-gritting effort to draw the string back far enough to launch that one upwards at the angle Anna had directed them to aim for. It hadn’t been so bad when they were shooting at straw targets; at least then she’d had a moment to rest between shots. But here and now, under Anna’s shouted orders, she reached for another arrow before her tenth had even reached the top of its arc.

She wished she could see what she was shooting at. It was hard not to fret, shooting blindly over the front lines like that. She kept picturing her arrow thudding into the back of some poor farmer, or worse, one of the people with which she’d journeyed here.

The other women Anna had gathered were arrayed to her left and right, in a line similar to, but still apart from, the one formed by the male archers under Tam al’Thor. There had been grumbling about women taking up the bow, some from the Women’s Circle, which Min had expected, but a surprising amount from the men of the village as well.

She had a pair of Theren girls at her immediate sides, both of them younger than she was and both of them girls she liked. But only Jeri was struggling as much as Min was. Little Imoen drew and fired smoothly, in time with Anna’s cant, and she did so while grinning excitedly. Despite the strain on her arms, chest and shoulders, Min kept shooting. It was hard not to in such circumstances.  _ I will not be outperformed by a girl nearly half my age. I won’t! _

“Cease fire! Cease fire!” Anna suddenly shouted. Min let the half-drawn bow ease back to its natural state, something for which her shoulders were duly grateful.

All around her there sounded pained female gasps. The bows they lowered were shorter than the ones Tam and the other men wielded, and shorter than the personally crafted ones that Anna and Sara carried for that matter. That had caused some complaints from the prouder and more foolish recruits at the start, such as Shanin and Franca, but a day or so of training with even the shorter version intended for boys to practice with had soon silenced them.

“Burn me!” Jeri gasped. “Doing it so fast really takes it out of you.”

“Language, Jerilin,” Joanne al’Meara chided. Surprisingly, she didn’t look strained at all.

Min grinned. Painful or not, it felt good to contribute. Too often, she found herself watching others fight, or trying to patch them up afterwards. Her useless visions had taught her how pointless it was to try to resist fate, and there were times she’d thought of herself as being just as useless as her visions, especially now that Moiraine had stolen the Horn from her. But not today. Today she’d helped, if only in a small way. Today that Tinker woman whose name she refused to learn, and the others whose fates she’d seen in their auras, would survive a little longer. That might not be much, but it was something dammit!

Archery was certainly a better use of her time here than helping at the inn. The work was fine, and the al’Veres were nice people, but how was she ever supposed to get Rand to think of her the way he was destined to think of her if he kept seeing her as his friend, the laundry woman?

The man in question was among the other archers now, clad in his fine red coat. With his height, musculature and bright colouring, he stood out among the other Thereners like a lone rose growing in the middle of a tilled field. He was talking casually to his father and another father and son pair, the Ahans, with whom he seemed to be friendly. Rand had been much more relaxed since they’d arrived in Emond’s Field, and reminded her more of the shepherd she’d met at The Stag and Lion last year, rather than the tense, brooding man she’d run into again at Falme. He’d almost seemed happy, these past weeks. It was nice to see. Unlike her, he wasn’t at all excited about the Trolloc attack they’d just repelled.

Admittedly, it had been a much smaller one than the previous assault they’d launched. The Shadowspawn had charged from the north this time, perhaps hoping the humans would have concentrated their defences all on one side. The sentries had spotted them and given the alarm, and within moments hundreds of arrows were raining down on the Trolloc horde. None of them had lived long enough to reach the stakes.

“Good work. It looks like we stopped them,” Anna said gruffly. Min knew her well enough to know how uncomfortable she felt with all this sudden attention, and was surprised by how many of the other Theren women seemed to take her stiffness for sternness. She’d heard her likened to Nynaeve and Moiraine these past days, comparisons that she thought utterly absurd.

_ But then, she did tell me she was as much an outsider here as I was back in Baerlon _ . It shouldn’t come as a surprise that they didn’t know her that well. Min did, and accounted her a good friend. She smiled and waved at Anna, and got a smaller smile and more reserved wave in return, which was just what she expected. She didn’t go to speak to her though, not while she had Sara and Loise, Doral and the others clustering around her. Min was just one trainee archer among many here. It wouldn’t do her friend any favours to have her hovering around chatting while she was trying to organise the women. She knew that.

She knew a lot of things, in fact. Many of them were things no-one expected her to know, things which she carefully refrained from mentioning. She’s seen a wooden bridge behind Anna the other day, when they were speaking to Rand and Perrin. It had been made of thin planks, its supports nailed to each other in the shape of triangles, and it looked too rickety to hold the weight atop it. It hadn’t really been there, of course, it was just a viewing, visible to her eyes only. She wouldn’t have even paid much attention to it, if it hadn’t been one of those viewings that came with a meaning attached to it. Without even knowing how she knew, Min suddenly realised that Anna was sleeping with both Rand and Perrin, and not just one at a time.

It had been impossible for her to continue the conversation after that. She’d made some feeble excuse and slipped away to the inn’s kitchen, where she could sit and stare at nothing without anyone asking her what was wrong. Min had thought the three of them were just good friends. She was their friend, too, but knowing what she knew about her and Rand’s futures ... What did that mean about things between her and Anna? Did it make them rivals? She didn’t want to fight with her friend, but the Wheel really did weave as it pleased. Or maybe she was reading too much into it. Anna was sleeping with Perrin as well, after all. Maybe it was just a casual ... friendly sort of ... thing.  _ Light! I don’t even know what I’m worrying about. What do I care what the three of them get up to? _ she’d told herself, shooting to her feet and going off in search of a chore to occupy her mind with.

She hadn’t said anything to Anna about it. Or about the sad fates that would soon befall Murin and Kari, among others. She hadn’t told Bode she was going to find out she could channel soon, not even when the girl claimed that Min reminded her of her brother a bit. Though she imagined it would have been funny to see her reaction after that outlandish claim. Handsome Tief didn’t know about the blackberry bushes she’d seen pressing in around him. Ragan didn’t know about the golden doll he had in his pocket. And Moiraine certainly didn’t know that her hair had gone pure white.

Some of the viewings that she’d had felt more important than others. Masema being surrounded by a horde of dead men made her even warier of the hot-eyed Shienaran, and she hadn’t exactly found his company pleasant beforehand. She knew that Urien would become a blood-brother to someone, but she didn’t know what the term meant exactly; she thought it might be another one of those Aiel things, like first-brother and near-sister. She might have been willing to dismiss Lan fighting the ghost of his past as just his usual Malkieri baggage, but something about that viewing had felt too dangerous to dismiss. And Rand roaring like a red-maned lion while people screamed and fled was certainly not something she could dismiss.

Min didn’t like talking about the things she saw, and had considered keeping it all to herself. But she’d agreed to be honest with Rand about anything that might affect their efforts against the Shadow, so after wrestling with her conscious for a while, she’d decided she’d tell him all of it the next time he gathered the Inner Circle.

She felt eyes on her, and it didn’t take long to realise who they belonged to. Raine’s golden orbs made her stand out from the crowd. Not that she needed much help with that. Even being short, skinny, red-haired and pretty wouldn’t have been needed to make her stand out. Her general attitude was more than enough to make people look askance at her.

She had that look she sometimes got still, with her head turned slightly away and her mouth downturned. With the torn Tinker dress she wore—torn just below the knee by her own hands, to allow her to move more easily—it was easy to see her wary stance, up on her toes, ready to fight or to run. Min sighed internally, and plastered a smile on her face. Raine had almost nothing in common with Nynaeve, but somehow she reminded her of the waspish former Wisdom and how difficult it had been to befriend her. As with Nynaeve, she already knew that they’d end up being friends eventually, if not the steps that would lead them there.

Raine responded to her smile with a smile of her own, one of relief in her case. It reminded her of the first time Raine had approached her, and the way she’d spoken so curtly, even while asking Min if she thought they could be friends, since they shared friends in Merile and Anna.

Min approached her this time, and hoped that would set the wolfsister more at ease. “No need for your knives this time, thank the Light,” she said.

“Yes. The Twisted Ones wasted much of their pack. They will never get close in the daytime, while coming at us in such small numbers.” Raine flicked a golden glance her way. “You fought well for a pup.”

_ A ... pup? _ It took Min a while to stop blinking and to compose her face. “Ah, thanks, I guess. The pup thing was a little rude though.”

Raine flushed. “Sorry. Meant no offense. Bad with ... words. And people.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been called much worse,” Min said with a smile.

“Me too,” Raine said grimly. Min followed her gaze towards the archers behind her and saw one of them, an older woman named Jina, giving Raine a dirty look. You’d have thought, given how much of a hero Perrin had become to the Emond’s Field folk, that they’d be inclined to think well of his fellow wolfkin. But it hadn’t worked out that way. Whether it was because she was an outsider, or because of her general oddness, Raine remained a figure of disgust to many.

Min took her by the arm and steered her away. She had a soft spot for the outcast and the lonely. She’d been so herself for much of her life, after all.

“Anna told me about meeting you last year. How long were you out in the woods with your furry friends before you decided to stay with the Tinkers?” she asked as she shouldered her bow and adjusted the quiver hanging from her belt.

Raine rubbed her hands together nervously. “Two years, more or less. But they weren’t my friends.” She lowered her head and scowled at the ground in front of them. “They weren’t,” she insisted, but Min had the feeling it was herself she was trying to convince.

Not feeling qualified to speak on the struggles of being wolfkin, Min decided to refrain from commenting on that. “Well you must be pretty tough, and a skilled hunter, to have survived out on your own like that. I don’t think I’d have lasted long. I’m much more of a city girl. Not like Anna. Or Rand and Perrin.”

“I’m the opposite,” Raine said glumly.

Min smiled. “Well if we get lost in a forest, I’ll take my lead from you. And if we get lost in a city, you can take your lead from me.”

A shy little smile crossed Raine’s face, and her sunburnt cheeks coloured. “I’d like that.”

_ Well. That wasn’t so hard. Nynaeve was much more work _ .

Villagers bustled here and there as the two women walked the streets of Emond’s Field. Growing up in Baerlon, Min had become familiar with the perception of the downcountry folk as being outwardly polite but rock-hard stubborn underneath. If anything, that description had turned out to be understated. Burned farms, burned houses, dead loved ones. None of it had slowed these Thereners for long. They shook off their fears, pains and grief and got right on with their jobs. Today that job was to run an army of Shadowspawn out of their homeland, rather than to sow a field or rethatch a roof, but they approached it as though there was little difference.

“Shadowkiller does not reject Young Bull like he rejects me,” Raine said, interrupting Min’s thoughts. “It is not the ... the furry friends, then. There is something wrong with me. Something that makes me unworthy. Do you know what it is? I thought it was ... them.”

She was talking about Rand, Min knew. Shadowkiller was the name the wolfkin called him by. She clenched her jaw. It was too much. Bad enough that she was supposed to accept that there would be other women, but now she was being asked to help them catch his eye? When she herself couldn’t even get him to see her as anything but a friendly helper? It wasn’t fair! He hadn’t even kissed her, hadn’t once looked on her with desire; not that she had seen. But she already knew she loved him.

She hadn’t at first. Oh, she’d known she would someday—her viewings always came true. But she’d resented the prophecy more than welcoming it, no matter how handsome he was. She didn’t really know at what point exactly that had changed. Somewhere between Falme and here, she’d stopped caring that he was younger than her, or a downcountry shepherd—two things that had never figured in her fantasies of her future husband. Not that Rand acted much like either of those things anymore, she supposed. She’d come to care for him more and more over the months they’d spent together. The need to protect and support him had grown in her. And the attraction she felt had become undeniable. She wanted him so badly it hurt. But what hurt more was that he didn’t seem to want her at all.

Min wasn’t beautiful like Elayne, but she thought herself a decent looking woman. Her style of hair and dress weren’t very orthodox, but neither was Anna’s, and that obviously hadn’t mattered to him. So why did he keep ignoring her like this?

Raine was still watching her, and the wariness was back in her eyes. Blood rose to Min’s face and curt words formed on her tongue, but she swallowed them and let her mouth click shut again.

She blew out a breath. What Raine had said had been deeply personal. She would not have spoken of such things to just anyone. Min refused to let herself be the kind of person who would abuse such a display of trust. But Light it hurt. “I don’t know exactly what Rand thinks of you,” she said, and even she knew how stilted the words sounded. “But I know he doesn’t hate you. You’d need to talk to him about this stuff, not me.”  _ Especially not me! _

“Oh.”

She sounded so dejected that Min had to say more. “I’m sure things will be fine in the end, Raine. Don’t let yourself get upset. It will work out.”

Min sighed, wishing she could take her own advice. Unfortunately, the brain and the heart did not always work smoothly together.

To make matters worse, Raine was more sensitive to Min’s feelings than Rand was. She made a polite, if curt excuse before parting from her, but it was plain to see she knew the conversation had upset her. Min watched her go, her mouth as downturned as Raine’s had been before they spoke.

Shoulders slumped, she made her way back to the Winespring Inn.

It was quiet inside, with only Berowyn, Saeri and Luci to be seen. The rest of them were still out among the defenders, or missing, like poor Loial. She’d compared how long it had taken them to reach Emond’s Field from the Waygate and decided that Loial should be back by now, or at least some time in the next few days. She worried about him.

“The battle went well then?” said Berowyn with a concerned look on her face. The Thereners were a tough breed, but she was about as close to jittery as any of them ever got. Slender and beautiful, she looked younger than her thirty-some years. Between that and her being the heir to the Winespring Inn, Min had been surprised to learn she was unmarried.

Min set her bow and quiver down among the other weapons that lined the walls as she answered. “They never even got near the stakes. No casualties on our side this time.”

Berowyn let out a breath, one that little Luci echoed. “That’s a relief. See, Saeri? All is well.”

Saeri nodded her agreement but her expression didn’t change. Min studied her for a moment and concluded that the girl looked as withdrawn as she had just after they’d rescued her from the ruins of her home village. That was troubling. She’d been much more cheerful in recent weeks.

“Are you okay, Saeri?” she asked.

“Yes. I’m fine. I’ll bring the tray up now,” she answered, not meeting Min’s eyes.

Luc and the Aes Sedai were out with the others, so of those who did not always eat downstairs, only Emi remained. The girl who’d lost almost her entire family, just as Saeri had. Min smiled kindly. “Why don’t you let me handle that,” she said, suspecting she knew the source of Saeri’s reluctance.

“Would you? ‘Twould be most kind ... eth,” Saeri said. Min’s smile turned wry, but she took her meaning well enough. She hefted the tray and climbed the stairs, grateful as always for her lack of skirts. She’d never been able to understand other women’s reluctance to wear trousers instead. They were so much more convenient.

She used the toe of her boot to knock on Emi’s door and waited for the call to enter. Once given, she used her elbow to slip the latch and shouldered her way in. “I come bearing gifts!”

“Well it’s about time!” Emi huffed. “My belly is rumbling. I’m a growing girl, don’t you know.” She waved a hand at the stumps of her legs.

Min grinned. “I’m sure you’ll grow a few more feet before you’re done,” she joked. “Of height, I mean.”

Emi snorted, but a matching grin spread across her face. “Ass. Have you no shame, teasing poor defenceless me?”

“Pfft. You’ve survived worse,” she said as she put the tray down on the bedside table.

“Damn right!” Emi agreed with a fierce nod. In truth, Min had been as carefully spoken around her as any of the others were, at least at first. But the more she came to know Emi, she more she realised how much she hated to be babied, or condescended to. And the more she came to respect the girl’s strength of will. And appreciate her directness. Usually. “How come you haven’t been ‘round the past few days?” Emi added, and Min was unable to hide her wince.

_ I didn’t want to visit you because I know Rand has been sleeping with you, and I want to avoid having to speak to you about that _ , Min didn’t say.

“Sorry about that. All these archery lessons, you know? That Anna is more of a slave driver than I ever realised,” Min said. “But we’re done for today.”

“So I’m your last resort, am I? Nobody exciting around, so I’ll just go see Emi, is that what you thought?”

Min stared at her for a long moment, trying to work out if she was being serious or not. She was spared the need to respond when Emi burst out laughing.

“Hehe. The look on your face! You’re one of the good ones, Min. Are all Baerlon women like you?”

Smiling, Min sat down on the bed and began telling the Therener about her home city. Her incredulity at the size of it was flatteringly reminiscent of Rand and the others’ reactions when they first visited, but the secret sense of superiority she’d felt back then did not come now. She was glad of that, for her travels had made plain to her how undeserved that feeling had been. Being able to answer Emi’s question with an honest humility made her feel a bit more mature.

They chatted on for a while, long after Emi had finished her meal, but eventually Min excused herself and took the dirty dishes back downstairs.

Mistress al’Vere was back from the front lines by then. She was chatting to her eldest about the supply situation when Min walked by on her way to the kitchen. They sounded concerned, and perhaps with good reason. Other than the Whitecloaks, almost no-one ventured beyond the village’s boundaries now. They had a ready supply of fresh water, but the food would grow scarce soon. Did the Trollocs mean to wait them out, and force them to abandon their defensive position? A great many people would die if that was so.

She mulled it over as she washed and dried the dishes. Only when she was finished did she realise she was being watched. Mistress al’Vere studied her thoughtfully, a small frown knitting her brows. It disappeared when she realised Min had noticed her, and a smile replaced it.

“It’s nice that you’re still willing to help out around here, now that you are one of Anna’s archers. Again though, you really should let me pay you. You and the younger girls, too. It’s always useful for a young woman to have a few extra coins in her purse.”

Marin was a good woman and went out of her way to accommodate everyone in the village. Of all the people Min had worked for in her years, she was easily the nicest; she treated her and the other girls as though they were her nieces rather than her helpers. Min gave her a smile and an easy shrug. “I wouldn’t feel right about taking money for helping out in circumstances like these. But I appreciate the offer. Again.”

Marin shook her head as though she had expected no less. “Well, how can I argue with such fair words? I’ll have to find some other way to repay you. There’s still some cider in the cellar. If you don’t mind helping me carry it up, I’d be grateful.”

The entrance to the inn’s cellar was just beside the kitchen door, and the stairs that led down to it were as well lit as the room itself. Or as everywhere else in Emond’s Field these days. Min had taken to sleeping with a cloth over her eyes, to ward off the candlelight that they needed to keep the Fades at bay. Marin preceded her down to the cellar and paced between the wooden racks, examining the labels on each of the barrels and casks that remained, of which there were notably fewer than when Min had first arrived.

Mistress al’Vere stopped by a waist-high barrel near the back of the cellar and rapped her knuckles against it. Min could tell from the hollowness of the sound that the barrel was at least half-empty already. “This one will do. Come here please, dear.”

She did as she was told. The barrel was a decent size, and it would probably take the both of them to haul it upstairs, but they’d managed worse loads in the past week. Marin was much more hands on in the running of her inn than Mistress Fitch had been with The Stag and Lion. It was nice working with her, less like being an employee and more like being a partner, albeit a junior one.

“You’ve known Rand and the others for a year now, was it you said?”

“Ah, yes, more or less,” Min answered. “They stayed at the inn I was working at up in Baerlon.” She blushed as she recalled. It wasn’t every day you saw your own future wander in the door. “We went to a dance together that night.”

“Friends from the first then. That’s nice,” Marin murmured.

Min stepped past her toward the cider barrel. “I’ll get th—” She cut off and froze in place when Mistress al’Vere’s hands closed gently upon her hips.

“That won’t do, dear,” she whispered in Min’s ear. “That just won’t do at all.”

“W-what wont?”

Marin tutted much as one or another of her aunts often had when Min got herself into another spot of bother. “It’s like I keep telling my daughters. You can’t just sit around waiting for life to happen to you, you need to go out and grasp it.”

Min was too shocked to do anything when Marin’s hand slipped down the front of her trousers. And when she recovered enough to snatch hold of it she only succeeding in pushing it against her pussy.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she gasped.

“I’ve been wondering about you,” Marin said calmly. “The way you look at Rand. Warm, friendly, excited ... and frustrated. It seems a bit familiar. What exactly is he to you?”

Being questioned by a woman with her hand down your pants was strange enough, but being asked about Rand so directly? Min was at a loss for words.

“I-I ... he’s my friend. I help him fight. Or, well, mostly I try to keep his spirits up. I’m not much of a fighter really.”

Marin’s fingers toyed with her, slowly and gently. Min hunched forward, and seized her wrist in both hands.

“You want him, don’t you?” the older woman said knowingly. Min wanted to deny it, but no words would come out.

“Poor girl,” Marin commiserated. “For what it’s worth, I think you would be good for him. But you’ll need to be more forward. Rand’s not really one for chasing. He’s used to being chased.”

Min had never tried to seduce anyone in her life. She couldn’t imagine where to start. And besides, shouldn’t it be the man who did the chasing? She was so upset at the idea that she forgot to fight against the grey-haired woman who was fondling her with her skilful fingers.

“What-what are you to him? How do you know him so well?” she managed to gasp at last.

Marin chuckled. “Well that’s private, dear. Let’s just say I taught him a great deal. I’d like to teach you something, too, if you let me.”

“What is it?” Min asked.

Marin didn’t answer, at least not with words. But she undid Min’s belt, and steered her towards the barrel of cider, and gently pushed her over it. And Min? Min let her. She blushed as she sprawled there, her trousers around her knees and the motherly woman’s hand between her thighs, fingers teasing, probing, entering. A shameful moan escaped her lips.

Marin laughed lightly. “You need to be more honest with yourself, dear. And with him.” Still fully clothed, the woman’s hips began slapping softly against Min’s naked bottom. “Do you want him to touch you like this?” Min refused to answer.

“I should warn you,” Marin continued in a gentle tone. She slid a second finger into Min’s wet hole. “He’s a very big boy.” A third. “Much bigger than this.” Min groaned and closed her eyes as her imagination ran wild.

Her hands were free. And Marin was both slender and older than she. She could have escaped. But instead she just stood there, held captive by the hand that cupped her aching sex. Hips continued to slap gently against her bottom, and fingers stroked her, inside and out. “What do you want?” a kind voice asked.

Min imagined Rand taking her the way Marin was taking her, and an orgasm stole up on her like a thief in the night. “Rand!” she gasped as she came in the woman’s hand.

Marin laughed delightedly. “That’s what I thought, sweet girl. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. So long as you keep it private of course.”

It took Min a while to catch her breath. “But ... I-I don’t even know if he likes me. I mean, I know he’s my friend, but ... there are other women, and he’s never even tried to kiss me. Not once!” She hated how plaintive and girlish she suddenly sounded. She stood, and pulled her trousers up, holding them there with one hand.

When she faced Marin again, the woman patted her cheek in a motherly fashion. Though how she managed to seem motherly after what she’d just done Min could not fathom. “You’re worried over moonbeams, dear. You make him laugh and you make him smile. He obviously trusts you. And you are as pretty as you are sweet. He’s yours for the taking, trust me.”

She bit her lip. “You truly think so?”

Marin smiled. It woke the lines in her face, but even that wasn’t enough to hide the traces of the beauty she had once been. “I do,” she said kindly. “As I said, you’re very sweet.”

Min found herself rather moved by it all. She wondered again what exactly had passed between Rand and this woman, as she greedily drank up her compliments. “I am?”

“Are you?” said Marin with a coyly raised brow.

_ Oh _ . Min wetted her lips with her tongue.  _ Well, fair’s fair _ . She stepped forward hesitantly and hugged Marin. The hug she got in return was warm, but she knew that wasn’t what she had been hinting at. They were of a height and when Min touched Marin’s lips with hers, she found them sweet and receptive.

She put her hands on Marin’s hips and steered her towards the same barrel that Min had sprawled across so shamelessly. Marin hopped up to sit upon it with only minimal help from her. Once she was situated, Min knelt before the older woman and lifted her skirt to pull down her underwear. She had girlishly slender legs, though the bush that covered her pussy revealed her age. Min had never been with an older woman before, but she hesitated only a moment before pressing her mouth against Marin’s grey-haired slit.

The shuddering breath she let out at the touch of Min’s lips was quite flattering. She held the woman’s slender hips in her hands and began licking her in earnest.

“Oh, yes. That’s a sweet girl alright. Kind and considerate. He’d be lucky to have you.”

Marin combed her fingers through Min’s short, boyish hair, and smiled down at her as the girl pleasured her earnestly. Min slipped two fingers into the woman’s hot pussy, and curled them, stroking her just so. Marin’s breath started coming faster and faster under her ministrations.

When Marin came, she came quietly, her pleasure evidenced only by the sudden stiffness of her body, and the warm juices that covered Min’s cheeks.

She found herself beaming up at the woman, and murmuring, “Aunt Marin.”

Her new “aunt” giggled naughtily, and petted Min’s hair for a moment longer, before quickly moving to right herself. When they left the cellar, they held the cider barrel safely between them, just like their secret.


	75. Their Mother's Daughters

CHAPTER 72: Their Mother’s Daughters

“Did women fight in the Companions?”

Tam shook his head, without moving his gaze away from Anna’s new company of archers. “No. There was no rule against it. It just wasn’t done. That’s true of most places.”

“Do you approve?” Rand asked. He felt pretty conflicted about it, personally. It was perfectly sensible and admirable for the women to take up a bow and help fight. And obviously he couldn’t have stopped them even if he wanted to. But the idea of women being in danger still trampled all over his Therener sensibilities. Somehow it was worse when the women in question were Thereners, too. He and the other men were supposed to be protecting them. It was their duty. And their getting involved in the fighting made that much harder.

“I suppose I shouldn’t, it being very improper,” his father said thoughtfully, “but I have a hard time coming up with a practical reason to explain why. It’s just the way things have always been. People tend not to think of the whys that often. Some things just become a fact of life, regardless of how much or how little sense they make. But maybe that’s part of what you’ll change.”

Rand trusted his father not to speak of such things, even by subtle implication, where anyone outside their circle could hear, but he still found himself looking around to make sure no-one was paying too much attention to their words.

There weren’t many other men around, just friends and kin of the women archers, sitting outside the Maerin place, or loitering on the pasture that Franca had let Anna use for practice. None of them were looking Rand’s way, preferring to watch the women. He could understand that.

Anna and Sara were already very familiar with their longbows, and Areku and the Aiel Maidens knew their archery, even if they used bows of a different size and shape to the Theren ones. That didn’t prevent them from teaching, though it did seem to be Anna and Sara who did most of the talking, despite the other women being more experienced as warriors. It was good to see Sara being more talkative, now that she had a task before her. He’d been right about her. However much she might prefer her own company, she was still a good person.

Of the women who’d answered Anna’s call, some were struggling more than others. Ellie Torfinn’s fleshy curves were delightful to look at, as Rand—and a great many other Emond’s Field men—well knew, but there wasn’t much muscle underneath them, and her bust got in the way of her draw. He hadn’t had the opportunity to pay her a visit since he returned, which part of him regretted, but another part wondered if it might not be for the best. He’d gotten himself involved in situations that he really shouldn’t have in the past.

Franca, Imoen, Kari and Loise seemed to be learning quicker than any of the rest. Of those, Rand found Loise’s performance the least surprising. She’d always been an outdoorsy sort. It was one of the things he’d liked best about her, when they were younger. And one of the reasons he’d regretted the way she kept her distance from him.

He watched Loise hit the target dead in the centre three times in a row. Her face went very still when she was concentrating, almost seeming an Aes Sedai mask, albeit a youthful and pretty one. As she reached for a fourth arrow, she noticed Rand watching her, and a small smile curved her lips. The arrow wavered slightly as she set it to her string, and when she loosed it, it flew wide of the target. Loise’s face coloured.

“I don’t think we’re helping here,” Tam grunted. He gave Rand a small, wry smile as he turned away from the archers. “Or one of us isn’t, that’s for sure.”

Rand watched him walk away down the narrow, well-trodden path that led to the nearby village. He wondered what he meant. The women certainly didn’t need any man’s approval to use a bow, so what did it matter if they watched?

The sun was high in the sky by the time Anna ordered a rest. Loise had recovered her poise after a few shots and hadn’t missed a single one since. As the women dispersed, he tried to decide what to do with the rest of his day. With Perrin and Zarine handling the organisation, there wasn’t much for Rand to do now other than wait for the next attack. Talking to Bornhald, on the rare occasions the man ventured out of his camp, was about the only thing that he could do that Perrin couldn’t. There was too much between those two for casual words to pass. He had an easier time speaking to Rand, regardless of Fain’s foul accusation, and Rand found his company surprisingly pleasant, for a Whitecloak.

He had meant to speak to Anna, but she was heading off towards the village with her Maerin cousins, and he decided not to interrupt. She hadn’t always gotten along as well with them as she looked to be now, so the more time she had alone with them the better.

Loise was among the last of the crowd to disperse and when she was finally ready to depart she walked very slowly. Rand watched her curiously. As she walked past the house against which he leaned, she glanced up as though surprised to see him, and smiled.

He smiled back. “Good shooting today.”

Her slow steps stopped immediately. “Thanks, Rand. Hopefully I’ll be as good as you someday.”

He waved away that compliment. “Better, I expect. I’m glad to see you doing this. I always kind of thought it would suit you. The archery and so forth. You and Anna have a lot in common.”

“You thought about me, did you? I always wondered,” she said leadingly.

“Of course! I thought you and Anna would make good friends. And from the look of things now, I was right!” He hesitated. “I thought we could have been friends, too. Not that we aren’t, I mean, just that you were much shyer back then.”

Loise looked around at the dispersing crowd. Other than the two of them, everyone was wandering down the path away from the Maerin place. “I’m not shy,” she muttered. “It was just difficult to speak to you, on account of ...”

Rand cocked his head curiously. “On account of what?”

She studied him intently for a moment, and then walked off towards the back of the house, indicating with her head for him to follow. He did, and when they were safely shielded from prying eyes by the empty house’s walls, Loise swallowed and turned to face him.

“You and Egwene, I mean. She jumped straight of the engagement so quickly that there was barely time to think, much less say anything.”

“Say what?” Rand said slowly.

“Don’t be stupid. You know what I mean.” Despite her bold words, Loise looked uncertain and was avoiding his eyes. Rand suddenly recalled all the times he’d seen her lingering on the outskirts of his social circle, seemingly not watching but always turned towards them. The games they had played when they were younger, and how happily she had switched from snowball fights to muckball fights as the seasons changed. He remembered the day they’d told him he was to marry Egwene, and the silent tears he’d seen on Loise’s face. He hadn’t understood them then, and later he’d decided they were tears of happiness, but now ...

“Did you ... like me, Loise?” he said hesitantly.

Her fair cheeks coloured and a long moment passed before she gave a single curt nod.

“Burn me,” he breathed. “I always liked you, too! If you’d been the one they paired me up with, I wouldn’t have minded half so much. Though I’d still rather have been left to make my own choice.” Seeing Loise’s conflicted expression, he hastened to add, “And if I had been, I’m sure I would have chosen you.” Though he’d meant the words to be reassuring, they were still more true than not. He was hard-pressed to think of any girl he’d known back then that he’d fancied more, other than Nynaeve.

“You didn’t want to marry Egwene instead?”

Rand shuffled his feet, feeling unbalanced by her question and all that answering it entailed. He didn’t want to speak ill of the dead, especially not to her sister, but he didn’t want to lie to Loise either. “I wish she hadn’t died,” he said at last, “but I don’t think we would have wed even if she hadn’t.” Even as he said it, he knew he wasn’t doing a good enough job of hiding his relief. Egwene’s constant stream of put-downs had been unpleasant to have to deal with. He’d gotten so used to them after a while that he just stopped responding to them at all, but he was still glad not to have to hear them anymore. He wished she had lived, and he wished she had led a long and happy life. But he also wished that she had done those things somewhere far away from him.

“She was a spoiled and selfish little brat,” Loise said, with surprising frankness. “Mother let her get away with anything, what with her being the youngest. All she had to do was say you were the best-looking boy in the village, and Mother went straight to Tam to arrange the match. Not that Egwene ever appreciated that. I wanted things to happen naturally ...”

Rand regarded her in silence. Like all her sisters, Loise was a very pretty girl. She had Marin’s big brown eyes and strong cheekbones, but she was wider in the hips. Bran’s influence there. Her breasts were neither large nor small, and he suspected they would have made a very pleasant handful.

“I wish it had. But it’s too late now,” he said sadly.

“I-Is it?” Loise said shakily. She looked him right in the eye, and reached up to brush her fingers across his shaven cheek. Her lips parted and the sudden tension between them was unbearable. He had to kiss her, so kiss her he did, bending low to brush his lips softly against hers. Her arms locked around his neck and she melted into his embrace.

As wonderful as it felt to finally touch Loise in such a way, Rand pulled back. “I can’t stay. Things can’t go back to the way they were.”

“I don’t care,” she said in a low growl, and suddenly her lips were back on his, moving more hungrily now.

They kissed for what felt like a long time. Somewhere in the middle of it Rand’s back impacted with the wall of the Maerins’ house. A bit after that, he found himself fondling Loise’s breast and bottom through the heavy fabric of her dress. She moaned encouragingly, and at that sound, his touch became more insistent.

She stepped back when he began working at the buttons on the front of her dress, but it was not a sign of objection. Instead, she did the same for the buttons of his red coat. He freed her breasts, with their stiff pink nipples, but before he could take them in her hands, Loise pushed his coat down over his arms. The sight of his obvious desire to touch her caused a pleased smiled to spread across her face. She held him in place and leaned in to kiss him once more, now pressing the bare flesh of her breasts against his silk shirt.

“Loise. I want you so much,” he breathed.

She finished ridding him of his coat, and then took his hand in hers and pressed it against her breast. “Good. Because I’ve been dreaming of this for years.”

Rand fell to his knees before her and lifted the front of her skirt. He slid her bloomers down her strong legs and feasted on the sight of her sex. Her brown bush was already wet with her arousal but he meant to make it wetter still. Loise gasped when he kissed her pussy and gasped even harder when began licking her. He felt her legs tremble. When he looked up, he saw her leaning against the wall behind him to steady herself. Her breasts shook with each hitch of her breath, and each movement of his tongue brought about one of those hitches. It pleased him greatly to control the movement of those lovely, soft globes. After a while, he found himself grinning against her pussy. She must have felt him, for she opened her eyes and smiled down at him. Rand kept licking, but now he ran his hands up the backs of her legs, seeking her bare bottom. When he found it, he gave both cheeks a hard squeeze.

Loise made a high-pitched little sound as she came. She bit her lips and held her breath until she was red in the face, and once the orgasm had run through her body, her knees grew so weak that he had to take a firm hold of her hips to steady her.

Rand got back to his feet, stealing a brief kiss of her breasts as he did so, and a longer kiss of her lips once he reached them. She kissed him back, heedless of the juices that coated his lips, though she surely must have known they were her own.

“Your butt felt great. Can I see it?” Rand asked breathlessly. Loise just nodded and leant herself against the wall once more as Rand moved around behind her.

He lifted the back of her skirt this time, and exposed the pale, round globes of her ass. “Beautiful. You’re beautiful, Loise.”

She responded by arching her back in wordless invitation.

Never taking his eyes from her, Rand undid his breeches and let his hard cock spring out. He entered Loise al’Vere slowly and carefully, despite his lust, because he wasn’t sure if he would hurt her or not. But his cock slid smoothly into her soaking wet pussy and the sound she let out as he spread her sex at last was one of pure pleasure. She was plainly no virgin, but Rand didn’t care about that. He did spare a brief moment to wonder who her lover, or lovers, had been though. He’d never heard any hint of a scandal about her. But then, she was Marin’s daughter.

All such musings were banished from Rand’s mind when Loise began grinding her hips back against him. He slid back and then forward, matching the rhythm of his hips to hers, and soon they were fucking in earnest. He reached around to squeeze her breasts as he watched her bottom shake with the impact of his body against it, savouring the feel of her soft flesh.

Loise moaned wantonly, a surprisingly liberated sound from one he’d always thought of as withdrawn. He was a little worried that someone would come back to the pasture and hear her, but that was a very distant concern when measured against how good it felt inside her.

In the midst of a good, hard fucking, Loise’s hand stole down towards her crotch and began rubbing frantically at the front of her pussy. Rand stepped up the pace, pinching her nipples and slapping his hips against her bottom so hard that red marks began to appear on the pale skin. Loise stiffened, and that high-pitched sound came again. He laughed happily as he felt her fluttering around his shaft.

The movement of their hips became a slow grind, as she savoured her second orgasm. Rand took hold of her braid, which was so short it barely reached her shoulders, and used it to turn Loise to face him. Red-faced and dull-eyed, she parted her lips welcomingly for his kiss.

“To think. We could have been doing this all these years ...” she panted when they were done.

“I wish we had,” Rand said. He pulled his cock out of her body and turned her around. Loise let him push her back against the wall, reach down and spread her legs, then pick her up. She let him pin her there, too, and moaned as he stuffed his cock all the way inside her. She let him fuck her as hard as he wanted, while she pulled up his shirt and ran her hands over the skin of his back, nibbling at his earlobe as she did so.

His hands clutched the cheeks of her bottom as he pounded into her. He kissed her neck in between his heavy breaths. She was whispering something as he fucked her, but with all the sounds they were making, it was hard to hear what. He tried to focus past the searing pleasure, and onto the sound her voice.

“Come in me. Come in me. Come in me,” Loise was begging.

That was what finished Rand off. After three final, extra hard thrusts, he gritted his teeth and came hard inside Loise. The shuddering breath she let out when she felt his hot seed being pumped into her womb was every bit as thrillingly welcome as the words she’d been chanting while they coupled. He cradled her in his arms, there against that wall, as he filled her up.

Loise petted his hair as he came down from the orgasm. “My Rand. My sweet, handsome Rand. You should have been mine,” she murmured.

Rand had no words for that. It couldn’t be. But it would have been good.

His arms having grown tired, he eased her back down to her feet. They stood there together, kissing comfortably while the cock that was still lodged in her pussy grew steadily softer. When at last they parted, a cord of sticky white fluid kept them joined a little longer, until the fall of Loise’s skirt cut it in half. She smiled at him as she began stuffing her breasts back into her dress.

He smiled back, and set to fixing himself up. He gathered his coat and her underwear from the ground, handing her the latter with an apologetic smile.

Loise considered briefly, before stuffing them down the front of her dress instead of putting them on. “I guess we should leave separately,” she sighed. “Unless you plan to marry me.”

Rand entertained a brief fantasy of a quiet life in the Theren, with Tam and Marin for counsel, and Loise as his wife. He wondered what she would have named their kids. “I wish I could,” he said, with sad honesty. “But I can’t. There are things I have to do in the outside world. Duties I can’t afford to fail at.”

“I can’t say I understand,” she said slowly, “but I understand.” She snorted softly at her contradiction of herself. “Well. Who knows what the future holds? Whatever it is you have to do out there, Rand, you take care of yourself. I hope to see you again someday.”

She kissed him once more, on the cheek this time, before turning and walking around the side of the house, her steps slow and careful. Rand watched the space where he’d last seen her for quite a while after she was gone, recalling all that she’d hidden under her plain, Theren style dress. He missed her already.

Loise was nowhere to be seen by the time Rand left the Maerins’ homestead. She wasn’t at the Winespring Inn either, but he stole the chance, while there, to get something to drink and eat.

Raised voices from outside drew his attention while he was eating, coming from the direction of the old stone foundations among which Marin often placed tables during the summer, where folk could eat and chat under the shade of the big oak. She’d put the tables out early this year, less for the sake of hospitality and more due to the sudden increase in the village’s population.

It was readily apparent that the voices were not raised in anger but in good-natured conversation. It was no surprise to Rand that Alene’s voice was prominent among the talk but others were harder to place, so he rose from his stool and went to peer out the window while finishing off an apple.

Elisa al’Vere was out there, too, along with two of the younger Lewin women, Laila Cole, Nela Thane and Raye al’Dai. Whatever they were talking about, they seemed to be enjoying themselves, but none laughed louder or grinned wider than Alene. That had been the case for as long as Rand could remember. Alene worked diligently at any task her mother gave her, and was as well-read as anyone in the village, but anyone who thought that meant she’d be stiff or quiet had only to spend a few minutes in her company to see how wrong they were. While Loise’s face was often hard to read, Alene was the complete opposite. Expressive and cheerful, she was fond of pulling faces that most women would have considered too childish or undignified. Rand had always been quick to seek her company, when he and Tam visited Emond’s Field.

She stood out from her crowd of friends for another reason, too. While almost everyone in the Theren had brown eyes and brown hair, Alene’s eyes were a light hazel, and her braided hair was an atypical shade, somewhere between brown and yellow. Rand had heard whispers, years ago, that she was not Bran’s child, but had been fathered by an outlander who had guested at the Winespring Inn. Now that his own lack of Theren blood had been made painfully clear to him, he wondered once more what Alene thought of those rumours, and of her uncommonly pale hair. Did it gnaw at her as it had him? Or was she just as happy as she seemed?

He left the women to their talk and went to relax in the common room, where he and Perrin occupied themselves with a few games of stones. Perrin played with a more aggressive style than usual, but that played into Rand’s hand. He’d always liked setting traps in that game, sacrificing some of his stones to lure the enemy into taking heavier losses elsewhere, and Perrin’s current playstyle allowed him to be tricked much more easily than his usual slow and methodical approach. He realised it himself, and by the time they were into their fourth game, had switched back to his old ways.

Elisa passed them by then, flanked by Jillie and Kimry. They were talking about Jaim Lewin, Berowyn’s long-dead husband, who had been Jillie’s brother. He’d died along with little Avine, Marin’s only grandchild, during the fever that had run through the Theren way back when. Marin had been every bit as grieved by that as Berowyn had. He knew she had hinted, strongly, to her daughters that she wanted more grandchildren, but thus far none of them had indulged her.

Laila, Nela and Raye left as well, and Rand caught Perrin eyeing Laila’s now extremely wide backside. “Still holding that torch?” he teased, once the women were out of earshot.

“She’s a married woman, Rand. It wouldn’t be proper,” Perrin said stoutly. Rand’s smile faded. He didn’t think Perrin was exaggerating there. He was a very dutiful, honourable and traditional man. So if Zarine actually talked him into marrying her, then what would that mean for them? Would it all just end? The more he thought about it, the more he feared that that was exactly what would happen.

He excused himself and wandered back to the kitchen, where Alene was conspicuously absent. It took only a brief search to locate her though. She was sitting alone under the oak, rubbing at the muscles of her biceps. Rand went out the back door of the inn and strolled over to join her.

“Stiff muscles? I got the same when I first started training with Lan. Swordwork stretches muscles I didn’t even know I had.”

“I’m absolutely wrecked!” Alene admitted cheerfully. “I’m starting to think I should wig Loise for talking me into this. Okay, maybe not that, but still. Does it get better? Anna said it would.”

Rand took a seat opposite her. “She wasn’t lying. It’ll hurt for a few days, but that’s just the muscles growing. After that, you’ll be stronger and the pain will go away. But if you go too long between practices, then you’ll end up right back where you started if the time comes to pick up the bow again.”

“That’s a bigger commitment than I expected, but it’s for a good cause, so I’ll see it through,” Alene said. Rand smiled. She might be more expressive than most, but she was still a Theren woman at heart. There was no mistaking that stubborn jaw.

“We all will,” he said quietly.

Alene eyed him shrewdly. “You say that, but I can’t help but notice how grim you sometimes get these days. I don’t know what happened to you out there, but you’ve changed, Rand. Be honest with me: What are our chances of surviving this siege?”

He leaned forward on the table and steepled his fingers before his face, as he considered her question. He wasn’t really afraid of the Trolloc army. Even if they got past the Theren archers and the fighters behind their stakes and the Whitecloaks, the Aes Sedai, the Aiel. Even then, he had  _ saidin _ to call on. It would horrify the rest of the Thereners and possibly turn Bornhald, Maigan and Alanna against him, but he could and would use it to save Emond’s Field. No, it was a different enemy that Rand feared. The longer he lingered here, the more likely it was that one of the Forsaken would come to seek him out. And if that happened, he didn’t think anything would be able to stop them from slaughtering everyone.

“That bad, huh?” Alene said. She’d been watching his face, and obviously didn’t like whatever she was seeing there.

“We’ll be fine,” he said, with hasty cheer. “I won’t let anything happen to you. To any of you.”

Alene didn’t need to insult you or swing a stick to tell you when she thought you were being an idiot; she could do it just by looking at you. “I’m older than you are, Rand. I don’t need to be comforted.”

He smiled wryly. “That’s true.” Though there had been plenty of times he’d dreamed that it was otherwise.

She sighed. “So many deaths lately. First Winternight, then Egwene, and now this. The world’s become a dark and dangerous place.”

While she was entirely right about that, Rand nursed another concern. He feared that there would soon come a time when they looked back on moments like this with fondness; he feared that having their village besieged by Trollocs would seem a mere bother in comparison to what was coming. “It may get darker still,” he found himself saying, “but we’ll see it through, Alene, just like you said. We’re Thereners. We don’t give up.”

She snorted. “An odd pair of Thereners we are.”

He hesitated to raise the issue, for he’d never spoken of it to her before, and didn’t want to cause offense, but he said it anyway. “You seem very much a Theren woman to me, even if your hair is a lighter shade than usual. Anyone who said otherwise would be a fool in need of a good thumping.”

Alene didn’t rebuke him for trying to cheer her up this time. She just nodded, as though hearing a suspicion confirmed. “I’d say the same about you. Those pratts saying you look like an Aiel can go jump in the river. Not that the Aiel seem quite as bad as I’d heard they’d be. Mostly they just wander around looking all stone-faced, and acting like they’re ready to kill anyone who says the wrong thing.” She pursed her lips. “Well, maybe they are that bad, I dunno.”

“I’m not quite sure what to make of them, myself,” Rand confessed.

She took his hand. “Have you spoken to Tam about that?”

Rand nodded, not really trusting himself to speak of that topic without letting his voice quaver. She squeezed his hand, and did not press the issue, but there was understanding in her eyes. He closed his fingers around hers, and she let him.

A tension grew between them as they sat there in silence, looking into each other’s eyes. Rand knew what he wanted. It was what he always wanted when he was in the company of someone he cared about, especially when it was a pretty woman. But what did she want? That was the more important question.

“Any one of us could die tomorrow ...” Alene said.

Rand nodded slowly. “I’d hate for that to happen. And I’d hate it even more, if it happened with my never having told you how beautiful you are. Inside and out.”

Her smile made little crescents of her eyes. “Flatterer!”

He shook his head. “Not at all. I’ve travelled all over Valgarda, and you are still one of the loveliest women I’ve ever met.”

Alene bit her lip as she studied the windows and door of the nearby inn. Then she rose from her seat, still holding Rand’s hand, and led him off towards the big oak tree. She walked backwards, keeping a careful eye behind them until they had slipped around the trunk and placed it between them and any prying eyes. Then she looked up at Rand and waited.

Like all of Marin’s daughters, she was not very tall, so he had to bend low in order to cup her cheeks and kiss her mouth, but that was no trouble at all. Not for Alene, especially when she kissed him back with so little hesitation.

The oak had only begun to leaf out, and its bark looked rough, but the ground beneath it was soft. Images flashed through Rand’s mind, half imagined scenes of he and Alene in the throes of passion, fantasies of his youth now so close he could almost touch them.

“I’ve always wanted you,” he confessed, his face so close to hers that he could feel her warm breath against his skin.

Alene’s smile highlighted those distinctive, and now rosy, al’Vere cheekbones. “I might have sneaked a peek at you a few times, too. But who can say for sure?” she laughed.

She kissed him again, and reached a hand in past his unbuttoned coat to caress the muscles of his chest and stomach. Emboldened, Rand let his own hands wander as well. He found a breast and a buttock and fondled both. He was soon achingly hard once again, so he shrugged out of his coat and tossed it to the ground at the foot of the oak tree.

Alene broke their kiss and opened her eyes. She watched him shed his shirt in the dappled light, smiling in a flattering way as she did so. “No wonder mama likes you so much,” she murmured.

Rand blinked. “What?”

“Never mind,” she said. She took his hands again, steered him towards the tree, and pushed him down atop the impromptu blanket his coat had made.

Rand wasn’t sure how far she wanted to take it, until he saw her lift up her skirt and take hold of her bloomers. She pulled them down her legs, giving him a brief look at the hair that coated her sex, so much lighter than that on her head. As Alene stepped out of her underwear, Rand attacked the buckle of his belt. He freed his stiff cock and sat there with it pointing up towards the heavens. And towards Alene.

She gulped as she stared down at him. “No wonder indeed,” she breathed. She stepped over him, and then sank down into the saddle his body formed for her.

Rand held himself steady with one hand, searching by touch for her entrance. Alene made a little encouraging sound, and when she felt him in place, she lowered herself over him. They both let out light moans at the feel of that joining. Her sweet heat enveloped Rand in friendly pleasure.

She fondled his naked chest as she took his length inside her, but Rand could see nothing of Alene’s flesh save her face and hands, fully clothed as she was. That didn’t matter. All he needed was to look at that smiling, familiar face to feel a wave of desire.

“Alene,” he breathed.

Her smile widened and she leant in for another kiss. She started rocking her hips as they kissed, slowly at first, but gradually increasing in tempo. Only when she found a particularly favourable angle did her lips leave his, and then only to let out a shuddering breath and curse softly. Soon her lips were back on his, her hands running all over the flesh of his chest and back and stomach, and her hips continue their slow, sweet rocking.

Rand was content to let her lead. Any pleasure or comfort she could take of his body, he was more than happy to give. He hugged her to him for a while, before letting his hands roam down over her back and under her skirt. The soft, smooth globes of flesh that awaited his touch felt a match for Loise’s, neither small nor large. They were a very pleasant handful, and the look in Alene’s eyes told him she liked the way he was touching her. She increased her pace in response.

He watched her face as she rode him, her wet pussy rubbing his cock and sending waves of pleasure through him with each roll of her hips. Her butt delighted his hands, too, for each time she moved backwards she pushed her soft cheeks into his grip, causing her flesh to mould itself around his fingers. But most delightful of all was the expression of naked pleasure on Alene’s face. The only impatience Rand felt at their slow coupling was the impatience to see what that pretty face looked like when Alene was in the throes of orgasm.

When it happened though, Alene tried to deny him that pleasure. He knew she was close from the sudden rapidity of her movement, but when she leaned forwards to wrap her arms around his neck, Rand wrestled her off. Instead, he cupped her face between his hands once more, so he could watch her face as she came.

Alene’s wide eyes met his and her face flushed even redder. “Oh, Light! Rand!” she whimpered, just before her mouth fell open and her dark brows reached for her hairline. Her lips formed a little o as she panted desperately, and by the time she was finished quivering atop him, she had actually gone cross-eyed with pleasure.

There was nothing comical about it to Rand. He pulled her to him and planted a kiss on her lips. “Beautiful. Just like I said.”

Alene laughed softly and hugged him tight. “Now this I could get used to.”

It was nice, just sitting there. The air was fresh, the ground soft, and Alene’s warmth filtered through to his heart, just as the spring sunlight filtered through the branches of the tree. Alene was nice, too. Much too nice to leave him unsatisfied. She kissed his cheeks and brow and lips before sitting back in his lap and starting to bounce upon him.

Where before she had preferred to rock back and forth, now she ran her lower lips up and down Rand’s shaft at a firm and fast pace. She wanted him to come, and Rand was more than happy to oblige. “I want to see you,” he told her, as he lifted the front of her skirt high enough to expose the dimpled folds of her pussy, spread now to accommodate his girth. She blushed over that, but she didn’t stop him. He watched Alene’s sex slide up and down his own and felt a storm building on the horizon.

When Rand came, he came hard. He fell back to sprawl on the fertile soil of the Theren as his come shot up into Alene’s womb, filling another of Marin’s daughters with his seed. As he lay there dumbstruck, he stared up at the patches of blue sky he could see through the reaching branches and wondered idly if there might be something strange about that. It had been brought to his attention, in recent times, that quite a few of the things he considered normal, were accounted twisted and perverse by others. Could this be one of them? But why? The sisters were all so lovely. As lovely as their mother. How could it be wrong to love them all?

His worries were banished by the sight of Alene’s smiling face looming above him, blocking out the sky. He smiled up at her. “That was worth the wait.”

She leaned in for a kiss and a hug. “Enjoyed yourself, did you? Good.” She snorted a laugh. “I certainly did.”

“I’ve always loved that about you, Alene. You’re so open, so nice and friendly and big-hearted. Never change.”

She sighed as she rested her head against his shoulder. “I suppose it would be too much to hope that you won’t change either, given how much you have in the past year.”

A sad smile grew slowly upon Rand’s face. “I’m afraid that’s true. I don’t think my future is going to be a very bright one.”

“Why not? Why are the Aes Sedai so interested in you? And the Aiel and Shienarans for that matter. I doubt it’s the same reason I am.”

He grunted. “If that Maigan one ever starts asking folk what I find attractive, give me a warning would you? I’d like a few weeks’ head start.”

Alene laughed at that. She had to have seen through his feeble evasion, but she didn’t press him for a real answer to her question. Rand was grateful for that.

They lay there together for some time, chatting about the old days. Long after Rand had softened, and Alene had climbed off him to retrieve and pull up her underwear, they were still talking. It was only when they heard voices coming from the inn that she got to her feet and announced that they should separate. She would have gone without a goodbye kiss, but Rand caught her by the arm and pulled her back into his embrace. When he finally relented and allowed her to leave him behind, she did so with a bright smile on her face.

Rand took his time about dressing, though no amount of brushing was enough to clean off his coat. He slung it over his arm instead, with the dirty part on the inside in order to spare him the need to lie to anyone who asked what had happened to it.

When he let himself back into the kitchen, he discovered that the source of the noise had been Berowyn, Saeri and Luci. Dinner wasn’t far off, and the girls were helping Berowyn cook. In a white apron and with her hair bundled up under an equally white cap, Saeri looked very much like the maid she kept calling herself. So did Luci for that matter. Both of the girls gravitated towards Berowyn, as was only natural. She was kind to the point of fussiness at times, but that was just the sort of attention that survivors like them needed. Rand watched them quietly, smiling to himself. They smiled back at him, even Luci, which was particularly satisfying, given how shy she usually was. He hoped things worked out between her and Heita.

After a while, Rand’s conscious began to prod at him. He felt like a bit of a useless lump, just standing there, so he asked Berowyn if she could use another pair of hands.

“It’s sweet of you to offer, Rand, but this really is a job better left to women. Our guest will want the food to taste good, as well as to be filling,” Berowyn said.

Rand let out a small, exasperated sigh. “You know, I did grow up in a house with only two people, both male. The food didn’t just appear on the table like a gift from the Creator. I happen to know my way around a kitchen quite well.”

Saeri gasped dramatically. “My Lord! ‘Twould not be proper! Desist, and return to thy leisure. Thy loyal maid shall bring thee thy dinner.”

He could feel his cheeks getting warmer. “I ... Thanks, Saeri. You’re too kind.”

Berowyn sighed. “Girls. We’re low on ham. Could you two go and ask Mistress al’Donel if she has any left for sale? You won’t need a purse; she knows Mother is good for it.”

“Right away, Lady Berowyn,” Saeri proclaimed. She gathered up Luci and skipped off through the door to the common room.

Rand spoke as soon as they were gone, to forestall the scolding he was sure Berowyn wanted to give him. “I don’t make her speak like that. And I’ve never tried to make her act like my maid. I swear. Burn me, I don’t even pay her! Maids are supposed to get paid, right?”

She sighed again. “Well maybe you should. I don’t think anything short of death will make that one leave you. I think that girl might have a bit of a crush on you, Rand.”

He shrugged as casually as he could. “She credits me with saving her from the Trollocs. Though in truth, there were a lot more people than me involved in that.”

“But you were involved,” she said with a small, fond smile. It widened at his nod of confirmation. “You’ve become a bit of a hero, haven’t you, Rand? Certainly so, if even a quarter of the wild stories little Saeri tells are true.”

“She exaggerates. You must have noticed how she is.”

Berowyn nodded agreement. “It does get a bit ridiculous at times. To hear her tell it, you once rescued two princesses on the same day, and them from two completely different nations!” She laughed softly. “I never did hear of a woman gleeman, but she certainly has the makings of one.”

Rand drew in a breath and raised a finger in objection, but on more careful thought, he decided to let it pass. Evelin had been a queen at the time, albeit an uncrowned one, and Elayne always insisted that she was a Daughter-Heir, not a princess, but they were both close enough to princesses that Saeri’s tale had not been entirely inaccurate. Telling people that felt a bit too boastful to Rand though. It would be crass, he decided, and kept his peace.

“I certainly wouldn’t call myself a hero,” he said, coming to lean on the counter beside Berowyn. “But if you insist on doing so, I won’t try to stop you.”

“Silly boy,” she said, with a gentle smile. Berowyn was a beautiful woman. All of the al’Vere women were beautiful in Rand’s eyes, but if a bard had happened by, intent on writing a lovesong, Berowyn would likely be the one they’d pick as their muse. Large dark eyes, long dark hair, a fair face and a slender build: she was made to delight artists of all kinds. He’d heard some of the older Emond’s Fielders say that of all Marin’s daughters, Berowyn most resembled her younger self.

Ordinarily, Rand would never have done it. But ordinarily, he’d never have kissed Loise and Alene either. Something about this day felt far from ordinary.

“What are you—?” Berowyn began when he touched her cheek. Her words turned into a muffled squeak when he pulled her into his embrace and planted a firm kiss on her lips.

She didn’t resist him, but she didn’t return his affections either. When Rand opened his eyes, he found Berowyn staring at him in stunned silence from a distance of inches.

She hadn’t exactly melted into his embrace, but she wasn’t slapping him either. He tried to express himself with words instead. “I’m not a boy anymore, Berowyn. And you are far too much of a woman to be so neglected.”

Blinking, she came back to her senses. “Stop that, Rand,” she said, so quietly he could barely hear her. “I’m old enough to be your mother.”

Rand, who had slept with women old enough to be his grandmother, wasn’t sure why that was relevant. It was also inaccurate, since she was only a dozen or so years older than he was. “No you’re not.”

“Close enough that I might as well be!”

“Well, I don’t care,” he said softly. He reached out to brush her cheek. “Not about that anyway.”

Berowyn didn’t flinch from his touch, but she did ease his hand away with her own. “Stop that,” she repeated. “Go on in to the common room. Dinner will be ready soon. We ... we shouldn’t speak of this again. It just ... It wouldn’t be proper, Rand. I’m sorry.”

She’d told him twice now to stop, where once should have been enough. Though she didn’t look at all disgusted with the proposal he’d made her, Rand took her at her word, and left her in peace.

The Winespring Inn’s common room was crowded at dinnertime these days, leaving Marin and her family with a lot of work to do, even with the help of Min and the two maids. The Aes Sedai came down to eat, bringing with them their Warders and their reluctant student, Merile. That group took the biggest table for themselves, with even Moiraine and Lan looking unwelcoming of company. Perrin had Zarine and Aram for company, while Anna sat with Sara, Emi and Raine. The table with the four young women drew Luc like a fly to a midden, but by Rand’s estimation, none of them were particularly glad of his company.

None of the Aiel had shown themselves, as was usual, but four of the Shienarans—Hurin, Areku, Izana and Heita—had left their camp and its bland rations in search of the Winespring Inn’s hospitality. Rand thought that a perfectly sensible thing to do, and went to join them at the table. His father, who had been standing by the mantle, immediately moved to join him.

“All is well with the lancers, I trust,” Rand said as he took a seat.

“Uno has everything in hand, Lord Rand,” Hurin said with a smile.

“He still frets about leaving you unescorted though,” Izana added.

Rand didn’t much like being chaperoned as though he was a toddler taking his first steps, and now that he had a good excuse to avoid it, he wasn’t eager to let Uno stick him with another escort. “This is my home, Izana. What would people think if I had armed soldiers following me everywhere, as though I was afraid my neighbours wanted to kill me? I’ll be fine.”

“Even a beloved queen will soon lose that love if she is too afraid to walk among her people,” Tam said sagely. Rand wasn’t aiming to be a king, but that advice could be fitted to his own situation easily enough.

Loise and Alene were both present, carrying dishes and pitchers to the various guests. Both of them were steadfastly refusing to look Rand’s way. He wasn’t hurt by that. They were their mother’s daughters, after all. It was their elder sister, Elisa, who brought the food to his table.

“That’s well said, Tam. Between that and the lovely  _ Tuatha’an _ belief in leaves falling where they will, you’ll find that there’s really no need to fear,” she said as she deposited the plates.

The portions were smaller now than they had been when Rand had first arrived. Supplies would run out altogether before too much longer. Then they would have to venture out beyond the relative safety of Emond’s Field and face the Trollocs in the woods, where their arrows would be less effective. The casualties they had already taken would be multiplied tenfold if that became necessary.

But that wasn’t something to be talked about just now. “Thanks, Elisa. Will you be joining us?”

“Ah ... yes. Why not? I’ve been meaning to ask about those stories Saeri tells,” she said with a smile, before turning back towards the kitchen, presumably to collect her own meal.

Rand winced, immediately regretting his offer. “Um, before she gets back we should get our stories straight,” he said.

Izana nodded. “No talking about the snake with four legs.”

“Best to tell the truth,” Tam said quietly. “Or as much of it as you can. Saeri seems an honest girl, and Elisa’s no fool, even if she does have her head in the clouds at times. If there are too many discrepancies, she’ll notice. Downplay it all as much as you can though.”

“Best let me do the talking, Heita,” Areku said. Rand looked to the young armsman, expecting an outraged squawk over that heavily-implied slight, but Heita’s attention was all on the kitchen door.

It occurred to him then that there was an easier way to solve that particular problem. “Why don’t you go visit Luci instead? I wouldn’t hold it against you, and I’m sure no-one else would.”

Heita’s cheeks coloured and he suddenly took an intense interest in the planks of the table.

“Did you think no-one had noticed, lad? Go see your girl. You’ll only be young once, believe you me,” Hurin chortled.

“I might just do that,” Heita said with the brittle pride of youth. He rose to his feet and walked, stiff-backed and red-faced, towards the kitchen.

Tam snorted softly. “The young ones are always the same,” he told Hurin, but it was at Rand that he looked.

_ What’s that supposed to mean? I’m nothing like that _ .

He was nothing like the picture the Shienarans painted of him over dinner that day either, to his great disgruntlement. For Hurin and Izana there was some excuse. They exaggerated almost as badly as Saeri, and credited Rand with things that he had had nothing to do with, such as the peace agreement between Evelin and Syoman. That had been Mabriam en Shereed’s work. But however overblown their accounts were, they were just honestly misguided. But Areku? She took a perverse delight in telling of the hundreds of Trollocs Rand had slain at Tarcain Cut, never bothering to clarify that he’d done so from the safety of the backlines, using tainted  _ saidin _ . She shot him sly looks in between her outrageous exaggerations, and her dark eyes got more and more amused the more he squirmed.

Tam seemed to find the whole thing funny, but not half so funny as Elisa did. When she wasn’t laughing or encouraging the Shienarans to continue their tales, she sat with her head in her hands, wearing that smile she often did, the one that kept her teeth hidden behind her full lips. He’d never understood why she did that. He’d seen her teeth many times; they were as white as anyone’s, and only ever-so-slightly crooked at the front, but she must have been self-conscious about them, for she preferred to hide them whenever she could.

When the torment had come to an end, Elisa turned her smile on Rand. Like Alene’s, it made crescents of her eyes. “So which was prettier?”

“Do you mean the princesses?” he said slowly. Elayne was the answer that sprung quickly to mind, but he resolved not to say it aloud. It was unfair to Evelin, who’d had her own kind of beauty.

Elisa gaped. “Are you saying that part was true!? You absolute heart breaker! I just meant the cities. I’d like to see Caemlyn or Cairhien someday.”

“Ah, y-yes. The cities. T-that was what I thought you meant,” Rand lied unconvincingly. Elisa eyed him dubiously, and Tam shook his head, but Rand ploughed on. Forward momentum. Somehow he had the feeling it had served him well in the past. “I liked Caemlyn best, to be honest. Not that I’m bashing the other places we visited, but Caemlyn had a kind of charming beauty about it. Cairhien was a very grand place, but also a very severe one.”

“Were the people friendly in Caemlyn?” Elisa asked, her interest plain to see.

Rand considered for a moment before answering. “I thought so. For the most part. It depended on who you were. They were arguing amongst themselves over how much loyalty they owed Tar Valon during my stay, so there was some tension in the streets. But the folk I stayed with were very nice. Some Whitecloaks tried to bully the innkeeper once, but he told them to scarper, since their Lord Captain held no writ in Andor. The Whitecloaks didn’t much like that, but when everyone else in the inn stood up, ready to help toss them out on their ears if need be, they soon tucked their tails and slunk off.”

An innkeeper’s daughter herself, Elisa was well pleased with that mental image, as he’d known she would be. Like her sisters, she was a very pretty girl. Though the plumpest of the al’Veres, the extra weight she carried didn’t touch her face at all. Instead, it was distributed in the chest and hip regions. Rand didn’t find the look at all unattractive.

He heard the front door open and turned his head casually to see who’d arrived. Then he stared. The relaxed air in the room was suddenly gone, just like the hubbub of many people talking over one another. In their place came a tense silence.

Geofram Bornhald surveyed the room calmly, pulling off his leather gloves as he did so. They weren’t as white as Rand might have expected, just plain brown, but almost everything else the man was wearing seemed to be trying to make up for that lack of brightness.

The Mayor hastened forth to greet the Lord Captain and dipped a polite, if shallow, curtsy before him. “I’m afraid we do not have much food or drink left to spare, Lord Bornhald,” she said.

“I understand the need for conservation, Mistress al’Vere. But even a brief taste of your cooking would be a welcome break from campaign rations.” He jangled his purse briefly, indicating his intent to pay his way rather than to demand tribute, as many Whitecloaks had, here and elsewhere. “We intend no harm,” Bornhald finished, with a dignified courtesy that made it hard for Rand to hate him, despite all that the Whitecloaks had done. Bornhald swore that Fain’s actions had been unsanctioned by him, and Rand was inclined to believe it. Whether Perrin shared that view was another matter. He’d refused to speak of what happened to his family, the few times Rand had found the nerve to bring up the subject.

“Then come this way. I’ll get you seated, and my daughters will see to your meals,” said Marin. Bornhald fell in at her side as she led him to one of the few empty tables. Loise and Alene stood up from their unfinished meals and hastened off to the kitchen at their mother’s nod.

Two other Whitecloak officers followed, men that Rand knew by sight but not by name. He was glad to see that neither of them was the gaunt and joyless Byar. If there was going to be trouble with the Whitecloaks, Rand would wager that that one would be the man to start it.

The nameless Whitecloaks stared at Perrin coldly as they passed his table, but Bornhald’s expression of grandfatherly weariness did not alter. The exchange was mirrored by those they passed, with Zarine and Aram doing the glaring while Perrin sat stolidly, chewing his pork as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Those exchanges were nothing compared to the naked disdain that the Whitecloaks and the Aes Sedai showed each other. There, too, Bornhald kept his composure. So did Moiraine, for that matter. It was the other two sisters who suddenly looked as though a bug had skittered across the floor. At an inaudible word from Moiraine, the other two turned their heads away from the Whitecloaks, looking very much like queens turning their noses up at a trio of dirty beggars. But at least they weren’t glaring anymore.

Rand didn’t think trouble likely, not from those groups. At least not today. From his own companions though ... He leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “Say nothing of all these tales, real or otherwise. Not where any of that lot might hear. I don’t know what they might make of it, and I’ve prefer not to find out.”

Tam and the others, veterans all, even young Izana, nodded calmly, but Elisa stared at Rand with wide eyes. He opened his mouth to caution her more strenuously, but then let it fall shut again. As Tam had said, she was far from a fool. Ditsy perhaps, at times, but well intentioned and not at all stupid. He trusted her not to stir up trouble with Bornhald. He trusted her more than he trusted himself, for that matter. Feeling that it would be better for him to be somewhere Bornhald was not, Rand forked up the last of his potatoes and ate them hastily, before scraping back his chair and gathering his soiled coat.

Crossing that uncommonly quiet common room brought an uncomfortable amount of attention Rand’s way, but he held his composure and gave the Lord Captain a polite nod as he passed his table. Talk resumed as he was climbing the stairs, but it was a muted and cautious sound in comparison to what it had been.

Once back in his room, Rand tossed the coat over the back of the lone chair and went to peer out the window. From that vantage, he could see the Whitecloak camp. Everything seemed to be in order out there, and the ever-present watchers were still in place.  _ They’ll be fine. Perrin hardly needs me to babysit him _ .

Even so, he still jumped when there came a knock on his door. “Who is it?”

“It’s me,” a familiar voice said.

Frowning, Rand strode to the door and unlatched it. When he pulled it open he found her unharmed, but wearing an oddly fearful expression. “Is anything wrong down there?”

Elisa shook her head. “They’re all getting along. They’re getting along like a clowder of tomcats locked together in a cellar, but they’re getting along. It’s almost enough to make me rethink travelling. Almost.”

He was about to ask her what was wrong then, but something in the way she was looking at him stilled his tongue. Her smile hid her teeth but not the warmth in her eyes and in her cheeks. With the way his luck had run already today, Rand was more willing to jump to conclusions that he usually would have been.

“It’s a lot quieter in here,” he said. “Would you like to come in?”

She flashed her teeth at him. “I would.”

He stepped aside and she padded quietly past him into the bedroom. In that enclosed space, the sounds of the door shutting and the latch clicking into place seemed very loud. As did the nervous giggle Elisa let out.

“So what brings the beautiful Elisa al’Vere to my room this fine evening?”

She turned to face him, and smiled that smile. “I noticed how damaged your nice shirt has gotten. Would you like me to fix it for you?” she said, stepping to him and running her fingers along the open top of his shirt. That they brushed against the flesh underneath was not, Rand was sure, a simple mishap.

The shirt was undamaged; he’d simply not bothered tidying himself up. And even if it had been damaged, he was perfectly capable of fixing it himself. But only an utter fool would have said that to Elisa just then. “That’s a very kind offer, Elisa. I’m not surprised. You’ve always had such a big heart,” he said quietly, smiling all the while. “Could you take it off for me?”

Her blush deepened, but she still reached up to tug at his shirt. She took her time about removing it, and Rand found that a surprisingly fine thing. A pleasant little tingle ran across his scalp at her careful touch. Once she’d rid him of the shirt, and he stood topless before her, Elisa’s touch grew much bolder. His shirt hung forgotten from one hand as the other traced the muscles on his belly and chest and arms. When at last her eyes rose to meet his, there was an unmistakable heat in them.

Rand pulled Elisa into his embrace, and leant down to kiss her lips.

A single deep kiss was all the invitation she needed. Grinning openly now, leaving his shirt forgotten on the floor, Elisa led him to the bed and eagerly shoved him onto it. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” she sang. It was something she had surely sung before, but to whom Rand had no idea. And it wasn’t his business either. He shed his boots and the rest of his clothes as he watched her strip, using touch alone to locate the buckles and ties, since he didn’t want to take his eyes off her for a moment.

The loss of Elisa’s dress showed him only the white slip underneath. Said slip was short enough to reveal her arms and lower legs—not thin, but not fat either—but it only revealed hints of her impressive curves. Even hints were enough to have Rand twitching his way to attention by the time he rid himself of his drawers. When Elisa bent to rid herself of her shoes and stockings, she granted Rand a fine view of her swaying cleavage. The way she laughed as she straightened up again told him she had noticed his reaction. By the time she pulled her slip up over her head, revealing first her meaty thighs, then her wide hips and the thick brown bush at their centre, her only slightly rounded belly, the incurve of her waist, her full and round breasts with their wide nipples, and finally her smiling face, Rand was as hard as a steel rod.

“Ooo. Is that for me?” Elisa teased when she beheld his response to her unveiling. Grinning confidently, she brought her lips to his and pushed him back down onto the bed, pursuing him as he fell. Still kissing, she clambered atop him, naked and eager for what they both knew was coming.

He would have taken his time, but Elisa didn’t want to take hers. Her hand found his cock before her tongue had even found his. She moaned encouragement when he took her breasts in hand, and kept moaning no matter how roughly he fondled them. Stiff nipples were soon poking against his callused palms, as smoother, more feminine hands sped along his shaft and caressed his balls.

_ Burn me, how did I overlook her _ . As much as he liked Elisa, Rand had always had more attention for the other al’Vere sisters. She’d always been so hard to pin down, so to speak. That unpredictability had led him to keep a relative distance from her.

She wasn’t at all distant anymore though. Or hard to pin down. Indeed, when he rolled her over onto her back, she spread her legs immediately, and no sooner had he eased himself into place between her thighs, than she closed them around him, pinning him as surely as he pinned her.

He didn’t bother reaching down to check her wetness, for he couldn’t imagine a woman behaving the way she was if she wasn’t ready and eager to take a hard fucking.

The way she threw back her head when the head of his cock pushed past her hot and slick entrance told him he’d assumed right. “Light, yes!” she gasped, providing a reassurance he hadn’t needed. He gave her his full length and she took it all with no more than a high-pitched moan.

When he kissed her she kissed him back, but her hands on his buttocks urged speed, and when he quite happily acquiesced to her desire, their wild cavorting made it all but impossible to align mouth to mouth. Instead, he supported himself with both arms as he thrust his cock into her, hard and fast, savouring the sounds of her pleasure, the look on her face, and the way her breasts shook with the impact of his body on hers. The way she was thrashing made him wish her brown locks weren’t trapped with that Therener braid. He would have liked to watch them toss around with each shake of her head.

She was either more excitable or more frustrated than Rand had ever known, for it took mere minutes before Elisa was digging her nails into the flesh of his backside and arching her back in a way that caused her big breasts and their stiff nipples to strain towards the heavens. Or in this case, towards Rand’s mouth. As he felt Elisa coming around his cock, Rand lowered his mouth to one of those beautiful breasts and began suckling upon it.

“Rand,” she groaned. “You really know how to use that thing.”

She collapsed back to the bed, taking her nipple with her, and lay smiling up and him dreamily.

He grinned down at her. “Only when I have the right inspiration. And you are nothing if not inspiring.”

“Then how come I never inspired you to visit my room, any of the other times you’ve stayed here?” she asked. She was still smiling, but he thought there might have been a hint of challenge in her voice, a hint of hurt.

“I never once imagined I would have had a chance with you,” he said honestly. He ran a hand lightly down the side of her body, to rest upon one fleshy hip. “If I’d known this was what awaited me, I’d have kicked down the door.”

She laughed. “That’s what you get for not being bolder.”

“Bold is it? I’ll show you bold, al’Vere,” he said. He pulled away from her warmth with no small amount of regret, and not just originating from his wet and now lonely cock. “Turn around.”

Giggling, Elisa did as he bid her. That she was playing the submissive to someone ten years her junior didn’t seem to trouble her at all. The pale cheeks she showed him were as round as he’d imagined, with a pair of eye-pleasing curves at the place where they split to reveal her inviting pussy. Elisa got up on all fours and spread her thighs, then knelt there silently, waiting to be taken.

With a sight like that before him, Rand didn’t leave her waiting for long. Her cheeks were as soft as he’d imagined, too, and the moan she let out when he fondled them was a match for that he’d heard when he mauled her breasts.

Rand knew she wanted it rough, so rough was what he gave her. He held her by the hips, keeping her firmly in place as he shoved his cock all the way into her dripping pussy. Only when he’d bottomed out inside her did he release his grip on her waist, and then only in order to maul her cheeks as he rode her hard.

He played with those quivering, bouncy globes to his heart’s content as he pounded into Elisa’s hot cunt, loving every moment of it.

He wasn’t the only one loving it either. Despite the lack of attentiveness or technique on Rand’s part, Elisa had a hand down her front and was rubbing vigorously at what she had found there.

Rand was almost ready to come, but the sight of her on the brink inspired him to hold on a little longer.

“Elisa,” he groaned. “Rub harder. I want to feel you come again.”

A shuddering breath and a hoarse whisper of, “Fuck me!” was his answer.

Rand wasn’t sure if it was a request or simply a curse, but hearing one of Marin’s sweet and proper daughters say such a thing to him, while doing what they were doing, was too much for him to bear. His hips slammed against Elisa so violently that she was forced forwards, her face resting against the sheets of the still-made bed and her huge ass waving in the air. She kept rubbing at herself as Rand spent the last dregs of his control in a series of hard thrusts. When he exploded inside her and collapsed atop her back, hissing out his satisfaction, he could feel her rubbing herself still, in the way her body shook underneath him. It was only when the last dregs of his climax were spilling from his sated manhood that Elisa stiffened once more. She began jerking and twitching, both inside and out, her whole being seemingly trying to suck every last drop of his come out of his balls and into her womb.

Rand wrapped his arms around her and hugged her to his chest. He found her red cheek with his lips and planted a kiss upon it, but only for a brief moment, for Elisa turned her face to his and met his lips with her own.

Conscious of his weight, he rolled them onto their sides. But he kept hugging her, enjoying the warmth and the intimacy. He took her breasts in his hands but did not squeeze them, just held them.

“This is nice. You surprise me, Rand. I always thought you were shyer than this,” she said.

“You aren’t the first to say that,” he mused. “I’ve never really thought of myself as shy, but apparently I come across that way.”

“It’s not a bad thing. As handsome as you are, if you were too confident it would be off-putting. Like Wil al’Seen, for example. There’s a fine line between bold and smug. Don’t be smug, Rand.”

He smiled. “I’ll try not to be.”

They lay in comfortable silence for a while, before Elisa spoke again. “I really should be going. This is so comfy I might end up falling asleep.”

“So? Sleep here tonight.”

She turned onto her back, so she could see his face. “Don’t be silly. These things have to be kept private. It’s our way. But thank you for the offer.” After a brief kiss, Elisa sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Standing, she bent to retrieve her clothes from the floor, affording him a very nice view of her ample curves in the process.

She had her dress and slip bundled in her arms when Rand wrapped his arms around her once again. “What are you doing?” she said.

He kissed the side of her neck, and slid a hand down her front, to brush through her bush and stroke her lower lips. “You can’t just flash that pretty bottom of yours at me and not expect a reaction.”

“I really should go ...” Elisa breathed, but she leant her head back against him, offering her throat to his mouth.

“No. You really should come back to bed, Elisa,” he growled low.

“Oh, alright then,” she laughed. She feigned reluctance as he pulled her back onto the bed, but his probing fingers revealed the truth. Her pussy was already wet enough for him to slip two fingers in. The truth of his own arousal was already pressing against her.

“So you like my bottom do you?” she said. “Well you’ll like this then.”

Elisa squirmed free of his embrace and came to her knees. She threw a thick leg over his waist, but not the way he would have expected. Instead, she crouched above him backwards, her head facing his feet. Then she took his hard cock in her hand and positioned it at her entrance. He had a perfect view of her pussy lips as they parted to receive his manhood and then sank down upon its length.

“I missed you,” Rand groaned.

Elisa laughed loudly. “I’ve only been gone a few minutes!”

“And it was torture, I tell you. Torture.”

The braid that hung between her shoulders shook from side to side, but it was an entirely different kind of shaking that occupied Rand’s thoughts, and worked wonders on his body. Elisa had a healthy appetite, and was not a woman for taking things slow. She rode Rand ardently, from the first bounce to the last. He lay there and let her have her way with him, mesmerised by the sight of her huge butt as it bounced up and down, or ground back and forth. The sight of it was almost as thrilling as the feel of her pussy sliding all over his cock.

He would have liked to have thought that she came again, but the honest truth was he was too entranced by the sights and feelings on offer to notice. He certainly came though, and with surprising strength, given how little time had passed since his last orgasm. As he came, he bucked his hips up against the woman atop him, desperately seeking more of her sweet heat as she took his seed to do with as she pleased.

This time, Elisa didn’t bother cuddling with him afterwards. Indeed, by the time Rand had recovered enough to open his eyes, she was already clad in her dress and had her shoes, stockings and underwear bundled in her arms.

“I really should be going,” she said, smiling down at him as he sprawled naked on the bed.

“Aw. But I’ll miss you,” Rand moaned sleepily.

She laughed softly, and spent a long moment chewing on her lip before she responded. “I’ll miss you, too. More than I expected to. This really was nice.”

“Well ...”

“No. I have to go,” she said firmly. She marched to the door, undid the latch and poked her head cautiously out in to the hall. Whatever she saw there seemed to satisfy her.

When she glanced back at him, there was a wide grin on her face, one that made crescents of her eyes. Giggling, she lifted her skirt and flashed her bottom at him one more time. Rand leapt from the bed as though to chase her, but a laughing Elisa fled down the hallway before he could get a step closer. He didn’t pursue, and hadn’t really intended to. Instead, he sat down on the foot of the bed, grinning to himself. He was still grinning long after she’d gone.

He’d only meant to doze, but the sun was well below the horizon when Rand’s eyes opened again. He was still naked, and the air was chill against his skin, but it was the darkness that caused him to sit up and hop from the bed. They were supposed to keep a candle lit in every room, to prevent Fades from entering and going on a killing spree while people slept. Knowing he was alone, Rand didn’t bother fumbling about for flint and steel. Instead, he seized  _ saidin _ and lets its wondrous heat and sickening taint flood into him. His vision came sharply into focus, so much so that even in that gloom he could make out the candle he’d left by the fireplace. Fire touched it and the candle sparked to life. Despite how wonderful it felt, and all that he knew he could do with it, Rand was not at all reluctant to rid himself of the One Power.

He considered going back to bed, but he felt too awake now. So he retrieved his breeches and shirt and pulled them on, while considering Marin’s small library down below. He’d read all of the books already, but it might at least pass the time.

The inn was quiet as he padded across the polished wooden floorboards towards the stairwell. Marin had given him one of her good rooms, towards the front of the second floor. She and her family lived in the back rooms of the same floor, so he could have done downstairs without passing their doorways ... but he didn’t.

Rand passed by Marin’s door without stopping, for he seriously doubted she and Bran were as strange as Wit and Daisy were. He stopped outside Loise’s door, wondering what she would do if he knocked, but moved on. Elisa’s he just smiled outside, for it hadn’t been very long ago at all that they’d been together. Alene’s he paused outside for a long time, thinking of how fun and friendly she was. She might have let him in. But it was the door beside hers that he stood outside for the longest time. She was in there. The only one of the al’Vere women who had not shared her body with him. On any other day, he would never have dared knock. But the Pattern seemed to be his friend today.

He tapped lightly on Berowyn’s door, with his heart pounding in his chest. He thought he heard an indrawn breath, but a long moment of silence passed before a soft voice sounded in response. “Who is it?” Berowyn said. She sounded as though she was right on the other side of the door.  _ How long has she been standing there? Was she waiting for me? _

“It’s me,” Rand said softly.

Rand held his breath and listened. A quiet sound, as of a hand leaning against the wood, and then a long pause. A slow and careful unlatching before the door creaked open to show him what awaited within.

Illumined by candlelight, Berowyn stood there with her hair unbound, the long dark tresses hanging to below her waist and framing her beautiful face. Her eyes were very wide, and her lips parted by her nervously quickened breath. Her chest rose and fell with those breaths, pressing her breasts against the thin fabric of her nightdress. It was all she was wearing, though she did not have the tousled look of a woman who’d come recently from her bed.

Rand realised he’d been staring, and forced his eyes back up to hers. Her cheeks coloured, and she crossed her arms before her in defensive timidity, but she didn’t rebuke him.

“May I come in?” he asked quietly.

Berowyn swallowed. And the rosy hue spread further across her face. But after a tense moment, she nodded her assent.

Stepping into her bedroom brought them so close together that Rand could feel her warm breath through the silk of his shirt. He closed the door quietly behind him, and dared to set her latch in place. At the uncommonly loud click, Berowyn gulped.

He brushed his fingers across her soft cheek and felt her shiver. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, but when he asked, “May I kiss you?” she gave a miniscule nod.

Her lips were pliant beneath his, as was her body when he pulled her into his embrace. She didn’t even react when he cupped her narrow bottom in his palm and gave it a light squeeze.

“Berowyn. I’ve always wanted you,” he breathed.

She looked at him then, and her dark eyes were as wet as he hoped her womanhood would be. “Do ... Do whatever you want ...” she whispered.

What he wanted was to sweep her into his arms and carry her toward her bed. So that was what he did. She was as light as a feather, just as he’d known she would be. Her arms went around his neck as he carried her, and she rested her head upon his shoulder. For some reason, that simple act filled him with a sense of tenderness. He’d take her slowly, he decided.

The covers of Berowyn’s bed had been pushed back at one side, and it was there that he set her down. Her hair spread beneath her to form a blanket of its own, one she lay atop as she stared up at him. Rand shed his shirt and tossed it to the ground. Berowyn’s lips parted as she ran her eyes over his form. Her lips must have gotten dry, for when he pushed down his breeches and exposed his hardening manhood to her, her tongue darted out to moisten them.

He raised his knee to the side of the bed, and Berowyn gave a sudden start. She scooted over to make room for him, never taking her eyes from his body.

The bed was pleasantly warm, a legacy of her recent presence in it, but Rand had his mind on something much warmer. She welcomed his kiss, and this time her mouth worked against his with a slowly rising passion. When his thumbs brushed against her nipples, through the thin fabric of her nightdress, she moaned against his lips.

“I want to see you,” he told her. “All of you.”

Berowyn only hesitated briefly before hitching her nightdress up over her hips, underneath the covers, and then sitting up to pull it over her head. She was very pale underneath, with a slender, almost delicate build. Her flat stomach bore the scars that were a legacy of the child she’d borne and birthed and lost. Her breasts were not large, but they suited her body perfectly. A midnight waterfall of long hair fell across her shoulders when she freed herself of the nightdress, cascading down her back and falling forward to shield her breasts from his hungry eyes.

That wouldn’t do. Rand reached out and brushed the silky strands aside so he could caress her soft flesh. “Magnificent,” he breathed. “Just as I knew you would be.”

“You don’t think I’m too old?” Berowyn said. He could tell from her face and her tone that she was voicing a genuine worry, mad as that seemed to him.

“Not even close,” he said firmly. “You’re beautiful, Berowyn. Only a madman could fail to see it.”

She smiled then, a pleased and welcoming smile that told Rand it was time. With lips and hands, he guided her back down to the bed. When he manoeuvred himself on top of her, she parted her legs to offer herself in that most special of ways. To say that he was glad to accept the offer would have been a huge understatement.

Berowyn was flatteringly wet, he found, when his cock first probed the entrance to her womanhood. He eased himself into her nice and slow, wrapping her narrow shoulders in his arms and kissing her cheek and the side of her neck. Her cute little whimpers tickled his ear.

“It’s been so long ...” she sighed.

So long for her, a long delayed first for him. So why did he feel as though they were an old married couple, making love for the umpteenth time? Perhaps it was because he’d known her all his life, or perhaps it was because he’d known so many of her relatives as well. Whatever the reason, Rand found it a quite pleasant feeling. Berowyn’s body though, that was beyond pleasant.

It took an effort of will for Rand to recall and hold to his earlier resolve to take things slow. The sheets wrapped around them trapped their warmth, and Berowyn’s legs trapped his hips, but it was those cute whimpers that trapped him most of all. As much as part of him wanted to ravage her body and make her howl in pleasure, those sweet little noises were just too nice to listen to.

Rand and Berowyn made love for a long time that night. He kept his pace slow and did not regret it at all. While she was pliant at first, content to let him lead, by the time she reached her third climax she had a firm hold upon the taut flesh of his buttocks, and was grinding her sex against his in naked desire.

That was what finished him. Not the feel of her silky skin against his, or the hot embrace of her pussy, but the sight of that reserved and graceful woman lost in the throes of desire, and the sure knowledge that it was he who had made her so.

Berowyn looked him straight in the eye when she felt him coming inside her. “Oh. Oh, my sweet Rand. Give it to me. Yes. Inside. Put it all inside,” she said, her whispered encouragements coming between her panting breaths.

He did. And when he was done, and his strength failed him, he collapsed atop her in blissful lassitude.

She bore his weight without complaint, though he had to be at least twice as heavy as she was, but Rand wasn’t about to let her martyr herself for his sake. He fought his way free of the bliss long enough to roll off her and lie on the bed at her side.

“Berowyn. That was incredible,” he mumbled happily.

She turned over onto her side and rested a hand upon his sweaty chest. “I’m glad you liked it,” she said, smiling. “I ... I, ah. I did, too.”

He couldn’t help by chuckle at her shy confession. As though he hadn’t been able to tell just how much she’d enjoyed herself! Still, it wouldn’t do to embarrass her. “I’m glad to hear that. I wanted to make you happy.”

When he stretched his arm out to gather her against his side, Berowyn proved eager to be gathered. She pressed her slender form up against his much more muscular one, and rested her head on his shoulder.

Rand might have slept then, but he was sure she’d want him to leave now, in case anyone noticed them together in the morning. So he fought to stay awake. Towards that end, he made himself examine the candlelit room. At a glance, it might have looked like most of the other rooms here in the Winespring Inn, but the evidence of Berowyn’s residence was everywhere to see, once you looked more closely. Her neatly folded and hung clothes spoke of the woman he’d always known, as did the tidiness with which her other possessions were arrayed. The walls, however, were gaily painted with animals and flowers and fanciful figures. Such decorations were much more girlish than he would have imagined Berowyn’s room to feature. He wondered if she had done them herself.

“It’s nice to share a bed again,” Berowyn said sleepily, interrupting Rand’s thoughts.

“It’s nice to share a bed with you. But I suppose you’ll want me to be going soon.”

He felt rather than saw the shake of her head. “I’d rather you stayed.”

Again, that unbidden sense of tenderness. His arm tightened around her shoulders of its own accord. “I’d like that.”

Her breathing steadied as sleep approached. They lay in silence for a long enough time that Rand was near certain Berowyn had drifted off, but then she spoke again, in the voice of one on the verge of slumber. “If I ever had a daughter, I would name her Egwene. In memory of her aunt, who died so tragically young.” She sighed softly. “Her widower sleeping with her widowed sister. I hope she would have approved. She was a sweet girl.”

Egwene had always told him that Berowyn was an annoying busybody who mothered her excessively. He doubted she would have approved at all. But Berowyn didn’t need to hear that. So he kissed the top of her head and murmured, “Go to sleep, love.” She soon obliged, after squirming against him to make herself more comfortable. Rand followed her svelte form down into darkness, and did so without a moment’s regret.


	76. Investigation's End

CHAPTER 73: Investigation’s End

They locked blades beneath the noonday sun. Deep in the void, Rand was aware of each drop of sweat that trickled down his naked torso. He was aware of their audience, too, but most of all he was aware of his opponent. Lan was as shirtless as he, the hard muscles of his chest and stomach completely belying the grey at his temples. Age certainly hadn’t lessened the speed, strength and precision with which he moved his blade.

Rand knew the form: Lightning Strikes the Oak. They would spin, and Lan would slash at his throat while attempting to kick his feet out from under him. If successful, he would impale Rand’s chest just as he hit the ground. Knowing the move, and being able to counter it, however, were two different things.

He tried The Bull Strikes the Serpent, raising his practice sword into a high guard, both deflecting the slash and offering him the chance for a hilt-bash on Lan. It was only partially successful. The slash he stopped easily, but the kick knocked one of his feet out from under him. Lan didn’t even try to dodge the hilt of Rand’s sword, he just took it on the chin, spun his own blade in a full circle to push Rand’s aside, and then stabbed him in the gut as he struggled to regain his balance.

_ Dead again _ , Rand thought morosely. The pain of the impact on his flesh was nothing next to his worry that he would never be good enough to face the challenges ahead of him.

The stone-faced Warder did not savour his victory. He never did. But one member of their audience seemed to find it all rather amusing.

“Good show, lad! You almost seemed like a lord in truth out there,” Luc called out with hearty insincerity. “You remind me of an old friend of mine; long deceased now, rot the luck. Come to think of it, you would have gone down harder than he did.”

He looked off towards the Aiel camp and grinned, though Rand doubted there was anything to see there. Urien’s people tended to avoid him when he was practicing the sword. Or at least, they avoided being seen to be around him. He suspected they shadowed him in secret whenever he ventured out of the Winespring Inn.

“What killed this friend of yours?” Rand asked, not particularly caring. As helpful as he had been, he just couldn’t find it in him to like Luc. Even if Hurin and Perrin hadn’t been so suspicious of him, he would still have disliked him. Something about the man just didn’t sit right with him.

“Stupidity,” Luc said, planting one boot on the bench outside Ellie’s house and leaning his forearms across his knee. He smiled in recollection as he spoke of this supposed friend’s death.

Rand liked to think the obvious familiarity Luc had shown towards Ellie had nothing to do with his dislike of the man. A lot of people were familiar with Ellie. That was something he’d known for years. She was among the watchers, too, and had had some ribald comments to share when Rand and Lan had first taken off their coats and shirts. That was just normal with her, but Rand had responded with a coolness that he feared had offended her, given their history. It wasn’t that he disdained her all of a sudden, it was just that there were so many romantic complications piling up around him lately, and he wanted to avoid adding more fuel to the fire.

As much as he’d enjoyed sleeping with Berowyn, and waking up with her in his arms as the first rays of morning light slanted in past the curtains on her window, getting out of the room unseen had proven difficult. He’d had to wait until Marin and all her daughters were safely occupied before sneaking back to his own room. Even after that successful evasion, there had been questions to fend off concerning his uncharacteristically late rising. He’d been trying to avoid going back to the inn since making his excuses to leave.

“Stupidity kills a lot of people,” Luc continued, eyeing Lan with a confident familiarity that few men would dare show him.

“In that, you are very correct, Lord ... Chiendelna,” Lan said coldly.

Tief and the other Theren men just looked confused, but Rand heard angry mutterings from the Shienarans. Luc stood apart from them. He made out as though he simply preferred the camaraderie of the Theren men, something which many of them seemed to find flattering, but Rand had his doubts. Vain the man might be, but he wasn’t lacking in awareness. He’d noticed the cool suspicion with which Rand’s armsmen treated him, and so kept his distance. Hurin had involved them all in his investigations of that strange “smell” he kept sensing, but so far he hadn’t been able to figure out where it was coming from.

The sniffer was there now, too, frowning Luc’s way, but his expression was one of confusion rather than accusation. He was with Min, but if her ability—equally as strange as sniffing—had given her any insight into the situation, she hadn’t shared it with the rest of them. He thought she would tell him if she’d had any viewings of Luc. Min didn’t like to talk about her viewings, but she’d agreed to be honest with them all when she’d joined Rand’s Inner Circle. She wasn’t paying any attention to Luc at all just then though, preferring to lean against the wall of the Torfinn place and watch Rand in an oddly pregnant way.

Rand gathered a bucket of water, fresh from the Winespring River, and upended it over his head. Sweat and dust were washed away, and the cool water brought him a welcome feeling of refreshment. He ignored the dampness it brought his breeches and boots: the sun would dry them out soon enough.

He’d let the void and its heightened awareness fade when his sparring match ended, but he was still aware of eyes on him. One pair of those eyes were particularly noticeable. And how could they not be, when they glowed with such a golden light?

It took no more than a subtle jerk of his chin to get Raine to join him when he went to retrieve his sword, shirt and coat from Izana. He thanked the Shienaran, and checked to make sure no-one who was not explicitly trusted was close enough to hear before addressing the wolfsister.

“Raine. You have pretty sharp senses, don’t you?” He didn’t bother to wait for the obvious answer. “I’d like you to keep watch on Lord Luc for me, if you don’t mind. Don’t confront him or anything, just keep an eye on his movements and tell me if you notice anything suspicious.”

He hadn’t expected her to look pleased at the request, but she did. She stood up straighter, too, though that still didn’t make her anything close to tall. “He will never notice me stalking him, Shadowkiller. You will see. I could be a valuable member of your pack.”

“Thanks. That’s very nice of you,” Rand said uncomfortably, while Izana shook his head in bewilderment. He hadn’t been included in the Inner Circle and Rand was unsure how much, if anything, he knew of the wolfkin. He would have been happy to include Izana—he liked and trusted him—but keeping that group small had seemed wise.

Other men took up the practice swords now that Rand had left the clearing. Lan remained there, and the Tinker, Aram, proved eager to claim a moment of his time. He sparred with Lan and Tam whenever he had the chance these days, seemingly intent on leaving the Way of the Leaf as far behind him as he could.

Rand left to take a walk about town once he was decently clothed again. Min, Hurin and Izana accompanied him, but Raine stayed behind to watch Luc.

“What do you make of her?” Rand asked Min, once they rounded a corner and left the wolfsister behind. “Raine, I mean.”

It took her a minute to respond, by which Rand took it that she was as much a puzzle to Min as she was to him. Min spent her minute strolling along at this side with her mouth downturned and her hands in her pockets. “She’s weird. But she means well,” she said at last.

“People might say the same of you and me, Min,” Hurin put in. “Other than the ‘she’ part, I suppose. At least in my case.”

“I don’t mean her abilities, just the way she goes on. You don’t see Perrin acting like such a fool, now do you?”

They passed an alley between two houses and suddenly Urien and Renay were walking with them. Rand hoped he was doing a better job of hiding his surprise than the other three were.

“I see you, Rand al’Thor,” Urien said. Rand, who hadn’t seen him at all, wasn’t sure if that was intended as mockery or not.

“Urien. Renay. How are you finding things in Emond’s Field?”

Tall Urien walked and spoke with pride. “It is a rich land, and the people who live here are not as soft as I would have expected.”

Rand smiled wryly, not quite sure how else to respond to that. The folk they passed certainly didn’t look soft to him. The weapons they carried and the armour they wore might be makeshift, but soft was certainly not a word he would have used to describe them. Many things were different when you were Aiel, he supposed. Really Aiel, that was. He glanced at Renay, tall and tan and almost friendly, compared to the rest of her very reserved folk. She was  _ Far Dareis Mai _ , a Maiden of the Spear, just like that woman Tam had told him about. He wondered, once again, what she had been like.

He had no need to wonder what the Theren folk were like, of course, but he was starting to wonder at what they were becoming. Elam Dowtry hadn’t smiled since his brother had died. At least from what Rand had seen. Admittedly, he hadn’t spoken to him much since he came back. They’d been friends once, but not particularly close, and somewhere along the line, the idea of speaking to him had become an awkward thing. He considered stopping and offering his condolences—after all, he’d been worried about speaking to Tief and Jerilin again, and that had proven nowhere near as difficult as he’d imagined—but Dav Ayellin plopped himself down on the bench that Elam was sitting on, and put a hand on the other lad’s shoulder in comfort, so he left them to it.

Jerilin was out and about, too. In her, Rand saw evidence of another change, for she carried her longbow openly now, despite Anna not having a training session scheduled at this hour. He’d seen more and more women taking up the bow lately, and fewer and fewer seemed as embarrassed by it as they had been.

Of course, others remained a bit more conservative. Natti Cauthon stopped in her tracks when she saw Rand approaching, gave him a cool stare, and then steered her daughters off in a different direction than the one they’d been walking. An exasperated and borderline sulky Bode looked Rand’s way and then rolled her eyes before letting herself be shepherded away.

Min followed Rand’s gaze. “She reminds me of her brother. I think I would have known she was his sister even if no-one had told me,” she said.

Rand’s lips twitched. “You should tell her that.” Min wasn’t sleeping with Bode, and so had nothing to lose by putting that no doubt shocking truth to her. And Rand was perversely curious to know how Bode would react. He put on a look of innocence when he noticed how suspiciously Min was looking at him, but he didn’t think it fooled her.

“Maybe I will,” she grunted.

His steps slowed as he neared the edge of the Green that was nearest to the Whitecloak camp. It was an orderly and clean encampment, and Bornhald had kept his men under control throughout their stay, but Rand still preferred to keep his distance.

“Have either of you noticed anything about that lot?” he asked.

A pensive look crossed Hurin’s lined face. “There are killers among them. And not just a few. Byar and Farran for example. Bornhald, too, though he doesn’t smell as bad as the others.”

“How bad do I smell?” Rand said quietly.

Hurin looked embarrassed. “I wouldn’t say you smell bad at all, Lord Rand.” Rand noted his choice of words though. He wouldn’t say. Not that Rand didn’t.  _ We’re all killers now _ .

“You  _ could _ stand to wash a bit more often,” Min joked. At least he hoped she was joking. She seemed to regret her words pretty quickly though, which suggested otherwise. “Bornhald isn’t so bad. I kind of like him. Besides,” she added after a moment, her face growing grim once more, “some people deserve to be killed.”

Rand nodded, recalling the  _ sul’dam _ that had tortured Elayne, the one whom Min had executed when Rand failed to do so. She’d been a woman, but ... he couldn’t say she didn’t deserve what Min had given her. “They do,” he sighed.

“Life is a dream from which we all must wake,” Renay chided. “ ‘Deserve’ has nothing to do with it.” Urien nodded slightly, as though at an obvious truth.

That was such a strange thought that Rand didn’t quite know how to respond. Suddenly he was no longer in the mood for a walk. Even so, the complications that awaited him in the Winespring Inn were still a daunting prospect, so he plopped himself down on the bench outside the Aydaer carpentry shop, on the far side of the Wagon Bridge, and laced his fingers behind his head to ponder his options. He saw Luc stroll up to the door of the inn and let himself inside. Raine followed, just as Rand had asked her to, and he was pleased to see she waited a good long moment before trailing him into the inn. It would be less suspicious that way.

Min took the seat beside Rand on the bench, and for once she looked as grave as he did. It was almost enough to pull him out of his funk. Min was always the cheerful one: what was troubling her so much?

Hurin and Izana exchanged looks, before Izana put on a smile and spoke brightly. “The latest battle was impressive, huh? No losses on our side. It feels like hope has sprung up in our hearts, doesn’t it?”

Supplies were running low, and there had been no word from Loial and Gaul. He shouldn’t have listened to Moiraine; he should have gone for the Waygate himself. Out there, far away from prying eyes, he would have been free to use the One Power. However many Trollocs infested the Westwood now, he could have forced his way through. How many Trollocs would they send through the Ways? How badly did they want Emond’s Field destroyed? “We’ll survive, the Light willing. And if the Light doesn’t will, we’ll still survive,” Rand said grimly.

Again, the two Shienarans exchanged looks. This time it was Hurin who spoke up. “What you need is a cup of that fine cider Mistress al’Vere keeps in her cellar, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“He doesn’t drink alcohol,” Izana pointed out. He did it with the kind of swift fervour than Masema or Saeri might have used, and Rand hastened to clarify for himself.

“I used to, and I’d like to again. But losing control of myself could be particularly disastrous nowadays.”

“One cup won’t hurt you, sheepherder. It’ll cheer you up and give you courage. I could use a drink, too, come to think of it,” Min said. She blushed. “And there is a decent supply left in the cellar.”

“You just wait right there then, Lord Rand, and I’ll see about getting you some,” Hurin said with a smile. He always seemed younger than he was when he got like that, all cherry and eager to please. Ordinarily, Rand would have tried to get him to talk more normal, but Hurin was already hastening off towards the bridge, and he wanted to know what was on Min’s mind, so he let it go.

They sat there for a while, watching the people go by. Emond’s Field was much smaller than places like Caemlyn or Cairhien, but there were still so many people in it, each with their own lives to live and deaths to die. It was overwhelming, when you thought about it.

“Have you ever tried juggling?” Rand asked suddenly. “I did, once. Thom Merrilin tried to teach me how but I could never get the hang of it. I feel like I’m juggling now. It’s like that tense moment, when you know there are too many balls to keep track of, that moment just before it all falls apart. I can feel it now.”

“What do you mean?” Min asked.

“I don’t know really,” he said slowly. “I just feel weird. Like I can’t keep everything in order, or can’t protect everyone, or make them happy. Anna, Merile, Raine, Emi. They’re all wrestling with their own problems, but I can’t see how to help them. Or maybe I’m just too caught up in my own problems to give it a proper try.”

Min took a deep breath. When she spoke, it was with perfect calmness, though she didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. “Izana, could you give us a moment alone please?”

Izana hesitated, looking to Rand as though for orders. When none were forthcoming, he was left to make his own decision. “Ah, sure. I’ll just check in with Uno, shall I?”

“I’ll see you later,” Rand said absently. Min was acting awfully strange today. Urien and Renay split up and went wordlessly to take positions off to the left and right, just outside of earshot. Rand waited until Izana had left before continuing. “What’s wrong, Min?”

“Did nobody ever tell you it isn’t polite to talk to one woman about another?” Her voice was absolutely flat. “Much less four other women.”

“Min, you’re a friend,” he protested. “I don’t think of you as a woman.” It was the wrong thing to say; he knew it as soon as the words left his mouth.

She shot up from her seat as though he’d goosed her. “Oh?” Tossing back her coat, she placed her hands on her hips. It was not the all-too-familiar angry pose. Her wrists were twisted so her fingers pointed up, and somehow that made it very different. She stood with one knee bent, and that ... “Do I look like a boy?”

“Min, I—”

“Do I look like a man? A horse?” In one quick stride she reached him and plumped herself down in his lap. Urien quickly turned his face away, but Renay stared, looking as close to flustered as he’d ever seen one of the Aiel get.

“Min,” Rand said, aghast, “what are you doing?”

“Convincing you I’m a woman, woolhead. Don’t I look like a woman? Don’t I smell like woman?” She smelled faintly of flowers, now that he noticed. “Don’t I feel—? Well, enough of that. Answer the question, sheepherder.”

It was the “sheepherder” and “woolhead” that stilled his alarm. The truth was, she felt remarkably nice sitting there. But she was Min, who thought he was a country boy with hay in his hair and not very much common sense. “Light, Min, I know you’re a woman. I didn’t mean any insult. You’re a friend, too. It’s just that I feel comfortable with you. It doesn’t matter if I look like a fool with you. I can say things to you I wouldn’t say to anybody else, not even Mat or Perrin. When I am around you all the knots unwind, all the tightness in my shoulders I don’t even feel till it goes. Do you see, Min? I like being around you.”

Folding her arms, she looked at him sideways, frowning. Her leg twitched; if her foot had reached the floor, she would have been tapping it.

“I really am sorry. It was thoughtless of me,” Rand said contritely. “But you might want to get up now, people are starting to stare.” Min was still too annoyed to be embarrassed, but Rand could feel his own cheeks colouring. Several of those who had stopped to watch were well known to him, and at least one was a lover of old. Surprisingly, Sascya grinned at the display Min was making.

“Oh? Embarrassed to be seen with me, are you? I know you’re not shy ...” There was an edge to Min’s humour that he’d rarely heard from her before.

“Of course I’m not embarrassed! You’re probably ...” he paused, thought it over, and found it true. “You’re definitely the best friend I’ve made since leaving home. I’d never not be glad of your company. It’s just ... Well, there are things you don’t do in public.”

Min clutched her hands together and a pained frown creased her brow. “Rand, what do you really think of—” she began softly.

“RAND! COME QUICK!” someone shouted.

It was Saeri. She ran across the Wagon Bridge as she called, her dark hair streaming behind her, the bonnet that had held it in place lying forgotten on the dirt road between her and the Winespring Inn.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded, taking Min by her womanly hips and lifting her off his knee. He was barely aware of Min’s soft curse.

“There’s been a murder!” Saeri said, so loudly that he and Min and every last gawker could not help but hear. Rand had only half a heartbeat to spare for the realisation that he should have taken her aside and spoke to her quietly, in order to avoid the panic and suspicion that must inevitably follow her innocent blurting. The rest of that heartbeat, and every thudding one that followed on his sprint towards the inn, were taken up with thoughts of those who lived there.

Perrin. Anna. Tam. Marin. Berowyn, Loise, Alene and Elisa. Moiraine and Lan. Merile. Raine. Emi.  _ Who? _

He slammed his shoulder into the door so hard that he knocked it off one of its hinges, something that would have been cause for hasty apologies and promises of recompense at any normal time. Now, Rand just ran on past the startled guests. None of the Aes Sedai were present, nor Luc or Raine, or any of his friends. Those Thereners gathered there shied away from the two armed and veiled Aiel who prowled at Rand’s heels. He could hear voices arguing in the kitchen.

He was slightly more gentle with that door, but only slightly. Marin scowled at the loud bang, and opened her mouth to have some stern words with whoever had treated her inn so disrespectfully, but when she saw Rand’s face, she softened. “Saeri found you then. I’m sorry, Rand, truly, but you need to stay calm. Close that door. We can’t afford to have this known just yet.”

Her daughters were safe. She wouldn’t be so in control of herself if they weren’t. “What happened? Who was ... hurt? And by whom?” he demanded in a choked voice.

She sighed. “I don’t know. Alene found him, and she swears no-one else entered after him, or left before she went to check on him. Bran’s with her now. The poor girl’s taken quite the fright.”

“Him who?” he managed.

She nodded towards the cellar door beside him. It stood open, and the stairway leading down was lit by lanterns, to keep out the Fades. It was hard for Rand to set his foot upon those familiar stairs. Possibilities spun through his mind, none of them good, some of them heartbreaking. It could be Tam, or Perrin, or Lan. But there was one possibility that seemed more likely than the others.

The cellar below was as brightly lit as the stairwell. It made it very easy to see the body, and the pool of blood in which it lay, face down. Rand didn’t need to turn him over to know who it was.

“Hurin,” he choked. “Light blast it all!” His vision blurred, and he felt hot tears trickle down his face.

Rand made himself go to the remains of the thief-catcher who had ridden with him since Fal Dara, and who had proven such a loyal follower.  _ No! A friend, burn my eyes! He was a friend, and a better one than I deserved!  _ He knelt at Hurin’s side, uncaring of the blood that stained his clothes. Hurin’s throat had been cut, he could tell that much without moving him. His shortsword and cudgel and swordbreaker were all in their places on his wide belt, so he’d been taken by surprise. He didn’t seem to be holding anything that might give a clue as to who had killed him. Rand couldn’t think of anything else to check. Hurin would have known, but Hurin was gone. Lan and Moiraine might know, too. He’d get them to look at him. A distant part of him was surprised that Marin hadn’t gone to them first. But most of him was too busy grieving to care.

“Blasted—”  _ What? _ “Blasted—”  _ Who? _ “Burn me! You deserved better than this, Hurin. I’m so sorry.”

_ Light. He has a wife and family back in Fal Dara. How am I to tell them about this? Should I take his body home? Burn me _ .

“Oh no, not him!” Min gasped. Rand hadn’t realised she’d followed him back until he saw her standing there at the foot of the stairs, with tears trickling from her huge dark eyes. He hadn’t realised that the two Aiel had come downstairs after him either; they were searching among the racks now, stilled veiled.

Rand ignored both them and the sudden impulse to pretend he hadn’t been weeping. He stood up and strode over to Min. Her arms locked around him before he could decide whether it was appropriate or not, given what they had been talking about earlier. Min pressed her face against his chest and began sobbing. So he held her to him and tried to fight back his own tears as best he could.

Even in the midst of his grief, Rand’s mind tried to work through the puzzle. The cellar was empty, and Marin said Alene had seen no-one enter or leave since Hurin came, in search of the cider for Rand.  _ I didn’t even want cider! Why did I let him go!? No. Focus _ . If it had been dark, a Fade might have slipped in, but it was not, so ... how? It made no sense. One of the Forsaken? He’d seen them come and go as they pleased, through doorways they opened in thin air. But why murder Hurin, instead of Rand or Perrin, Moiraine or Lan? Had it been because he was close to Rand? Could that be all it took to make someone a target for the Shadow?

Heart pounding anew, Rand took Min by the shoulders and pushed her away.

“Wha—?” she began, through her tears.

“You aren’t safe here, Min. Stay close to Marin and the others. Don’t let yourself be caught alone.” He took her by the hand and pulled her behind him as he hastened back up the stairs. There were others here who were as close to him as Hurin had been, and some that were closer. Marin was still there in the kitchen when he returned, standing with her arms crossed and a grim look on her face. “Mistress al’Vere, you need to gather everyone in the inn. Get them to come down to the common room,” he said.

She frowned at his forceful tone. “I told you, Rand. This needs to be kept quiet.”

He shook his head. “It’s too late for that. Saeri already told half of Emond’s Field.” Ignoring the way Marin’s lips thinned, he handed Min off to her. Though only at the second attempt. She didn’t seem to want to let go of his hand, so he was forced to pry it loose as gently as he could. “Stay close to Min, and call out if you see anything suspicious.”

Neither woman seemed best pleased with Rand just then, but he had other things to worry about. He ran out of the kitchen, though the common room, and took the stairs to the second floor two at a time. He banged his fist on Perrin’s door and demanded he show himself, and was relieved to hear angry cursing from within. He moved on before Perrin could open up, and his heart skipped a beat when he noticed the door to Anna’s room was slightly ajar.

Rand shoved it open so quickly that Raine was barely able to hop backwards fast enough to avoid having her nose broken. In his panic, he’d forgotten they were sharing a room. There was no sign of Anna within, but that was only a partial relief. “Where is she?” he demanded.

His behaviour was spooking Raine, for she went up on her toes and hunched her shoulders and began sniffing the air intently. “Her? Anna? Went out with Loise. I’ve been watching Luc, not her.”

“That’s ... that’s good,” Rand breathed. A frown grew slowly upon his brow. “Where is Luc now?” He’d almost certainly known Hurin was suspicious of him. Could he have killed him to put an end to his investigation? But how?

Raine’s golden eyes showed her confusion. “He went into his room. I’ve been waiting here to see if he left again.”

“And he hasn’t? You’re sure?”

“Who has the enhanced senses here, you or me?” she muttered. She blinked afterwards, and hunched her shoulders further, as though embarrassed by her own words, but Rand was actually pleased to hear them, despite the circumstances.

“Sorry. You’d know better than me, but I still need to check.”

She padded after him as he strode off towards Luc’s room. Again, Rand banged his fist upon a door, but this time there was no response. He clenched his jaw. Luc might have avoided Raine by going out the window, but how had he gotten past Alene? He had already drawn back his foot, ready to kick the door down, when he heard the latch coming undone.

The door opened to reveal Luc standing in the entrance to his room, wearing his finery and a look of strained patience. “Why are you thumping upon my door, man? Is there some new crisis you need me to resolve for you?”

Rand lowered his boot to the floor, and tried to wipe the frown from his face. It couldn’t have been Luc, he realised. He’d have had to get past Raine, with all her wolf-like senses, then sneak past Alene, kill Hurin, sneak past Alene again, and climb back up to the second floor unnoticed, in broad daylight, all without getting to much as a speck of dirt on his nice coat. “We’re gathering everyone down in the common room. There’s a matter than needs discussing,” he muttered. Impossible as it was, he still couldn’t stop his eyes from narrowing suspiciously at the Hunter with the white wings in his red hair and the arrogant look in his eyes.

“And what is this matter, exactly?” Moiraine’s cool voice asked. The racket had brought her and Lan to their doors, along with Maigan, and Alanna’s dark Warder Ihvon. He could hear a rattling coming from Alanna’s room that indicated her imminent arrival, too.

Rand hesitated to answer her question in front of Luc and Maigan, trusting neither, but he supposed they would find out what had happened soon enough. “Hurin’s dead,” he said, not meeting Moiraine’s eyes. “His throat was cut, down in the cellar. No-one can say who did it.”

Lan cursed. He snatched up his sword, which had been resting just inside his door, and began buckling it on. “You may have exaggerated there, Rand,” Moiraine said in that icy voice of hers. “I can say who committed this crime. And I mean to. Gaidin.”

At her command, Lan preceded her down the hallway. Maigan fell in at her side when Moiraine passed her room, and after a hurried conference with Ihvon, Alanna hastened after them, her usual graceful walk becoming an impatient stride.

Luc and Raine had been very quiet while the Aes Sedai spoke. Only when they were gone did they let their feelings be known, Raine by sighing in relief, and Luc by sneering at their backs.

“A Damodred and an Aes Sedai. Can there be a worse combination?” Luc told Rand conspiratorially, as though there was some secret they shared. If there was one, it was one only he knew of. The Damodreds were a noble family from Cairhien who had once held the Sun Throne. That was about the limit of Rand’s knowledge of them.

“There are other people I need to check on,” he said curtly. “You should go down with the others.”

“In a moment,” Luc said, just to make sure Rand didn’t think he was doing what he told him. Rand shook his head in disdain of that game, and walked away from the man without another word.

It didn’t take long to find Merile, who was peeking out of the door of Alanna’s room as though uncertain if she was allowed to leave or not. Rand didn’t have the right to grant her permission, but he didn’t think Alanna had the right to deny it to her either, and since her life was in danger he meant to make sure Merile left that room even if he had to throw her over his shoulder and carry her. As it turned out, there was no need for such drastic measures. She simply asked him if she should go, and when he answered yes, she strolled right off. He supposed it was a Way of the Leaf thing.

While Raine explained what was going on to Perrin and Zarine, Rand went to look in on his father. Thankfully, Tam proved to be unharmed. He was sitting in a chair, reading a worn old book that he’d read many times before. It would have been an image of Rand’s childhood, if not for the scabbarded sword that leaned against the small table nearby. That blade was plain steel, not Power-wrought or heron-marked, and the scabbard and hilt were rough deerskin, all of it a poor replacement for the sword that Rand had borrowed and gotten destroyed. Tam set the book aside and took up the sword once more at Rand’s word.

It was Emi he was most worried about though. Her injuries, of necessity, meant that she spent a lot of time alone in her room now. If someone was murdering people close to Rand, she’d be an ideal target. He didn’t bother knocking at her door. After all, he’d already seen every last inch of her in great detail. That didn’t stop her from scowling at him for barging in.

“Were you born in a barn, Rand?”

“Thank the Light you’re safe! We need to get you out of here, Emi, there’s been an incident.” She was already dressed in her shirt and shorts, so he strode over to the bed and scooped her up in his arms. “Don’t worry though; I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

“Hey! Put me down!” she squawked.

“Relax. We’re all gathering downstairs. I’ll take you there, don’t worry.”

“Stop saying that!” Emi yelled. She struck him on the head, hammering her tiny fist against him repeatedly in genuine anger. Rand was more surprised than hurt, but the blows stopped him in his tracks just the same.

“You’re in danger, Emi.”

“Of course I am! We all are! And we always will be. That’s no reason to—” She blew out her breath forcefully. “We’ve been over this already, Rand. I’ve got to deal with this stuff on my own.”

“So ...”

“So put. Me. Down.” she said coldly.

Rand hesitated, but in the end he set his stubborn jaw and stepped out of the room. With Emi in his arms. “I’ll put you down. But in the common room, where it’s safer.”

“Asshole!” she swore savagely. The look in her eyes hurt more than her words or her fists, but Rand would rather Emi be mad at him and safe, than pleased with him and in danger.

He could feel her quivering with anger as he carted her out of the room and down to the lower floor. She stared silent daggers at him while he was getting her situated in a chair beside Sara, who promptly matched Emi’s expression, without even bothering to ask why she was mad at him.

Rand was surrounded by friends that evening, and well into the night that followed. But he sat alone among them, recalling a man who had brought justice to those who could not or would not find it themselves. A man he should have sent home to his family when he’d had the chance. Word had spread to the other Shienarans by then, and they had gathered in the inn, their faces set in grim promise. The strange mood that had come over Min earlier seemed to have evaporated in the wake of Hurin’s demise. She sat with Rand, her mood a match for his own, as they waited for Moiraine and Lan’s verdict on the killing.

That verdict, when they finally returned from the cellar, proved disappointing. Though never one to easily admit to a failing, Moiraine was both honest about and honestly annoyed by her inability to puzzle out who the killer was and how they had gotten to Hurin. Uno cursed up a storm, while Luc loudly lamented the tragedy of it all. Rand stewed in silence, while adding another failure to his growing list. There would be no justice brought to Hurin’s graveside, not now, and perhaps not ever.


	77. The Price of a Departure

CHAPTER 74: The Price of a Departure

Only three candles and two lamps lit the common room of the Winespring Inn, since candles and oil both were in short supply now. The spears and other weapons were gone from the walls; the barrel that had held old swords was empty. The lamps stood on two of the tables pushed together in front of the tall stone fireplace, where Marin al’Vere and Daisy Congar and others of the Women’s Circle were going over lists of the scanty food remaining in Emond’s Field. Perrin tried not to listen.

At another table Faile’s honing stone made a soft, steady whisk-whisk as she sharpened one of her knives. A bow lay in front of her, and a bristling quiver hung at her belt. She had turned out to be a fairly good shot, in their private practice sessions—she refused to go to those that Anna had arranged—but he hoped she never discovered that it was a boy’s bow; she could not draw a man’s Theren longbow, though she refused to admit it.

Shifting his axe so it would not dig into his side, he tried to put his mind back on what he was discussing with the men around the table with him. Not that all of them were keeping their own attention where it should be.

“They have lamps,” Cenn muttered, “and we make do with tallow.” The gnarled old man glared at the pair of candles in brass candlesticks.

“Give over, Cenn,” Tam said wearily, pulling pipe and tabac pouch from behind his sword belt. “For once, give over.”

“If we had to read or write,” Abell said, his voice less patient than the words, “we’d have lamps.” A bandage was wound around his temples.

“Keep your mind to the business at hand, Cenn. I’ll have none of your wasting Perrin’s time,” Bran said.

“I just think we should have lamps,” Cenn complained. “Perrin would tell me if I was wasting his time.”

Perrin sighed; the night tried to drag his eyelids down. He wished it were someone else’s turn to represent the Village Council, Haral Weyland or Jon Finngar, or anybody but Cenn with his carping. But then, sometimes he wished one of these men would turn to him and say, “This is business for the Mayor and the Council, young fellow. You go on back to the forge. We’ll let you know what to do.” Instead they worried about wasting his time, deferred to him. Time. How many attacks had there been in the seven days since the first? He was not sure any longer.

The bandage on Abell’s head irritated Perrin. The Aes Sedai only Healed the most serious wounds; if a man could manage without, they let him. Even an Aes Sedai only had so much strength; apparently their trick with the catapult stones took as much as Healing. For once he did not want to be reminded of limits to Aes Sedai strength.

“How are the arrows holding out?” he asked. That was what he was supposed to be thinking about.

“Well enough,” Tam said, puffing his pipe alight from one of the candles. “We still recover most of what we shoot, in daylight at least. They drag a lot of their dead away at night—fodder for the cookpots, I suppose—and we lose those.” The other men were digging out their pipes, too, from pouches and coat pockets, Cenn muttering that he seemed to have forgotten his pouch. Grumbling, Bran passed his across, his bald pate gleaming in the candlelight.

Perrin rubbed at his forehead. What had he meant to ask next? The stakes. There was fighting at the stakes in most attacks now, especially at night. How many times had the Trollocs nearly broken through? Three? Four? “Does everyone have a spear or some sort of polearm now? What’s left to make more?” Silence answered him, and he lowered his hand. The other men were staring at him.

“You asked that yesterday,” Abell said gently. “And Haral told you then there isn’t a scythe or pitchfork left in the village that hasn’t been made into a weapon. We’ve more than we have hands for, in truth.”

“Yes. Of course. It just slipped my mind.” A snatch of conversation from the Women’s Circle caught his ear.

“... mustn’t let the men know,” Marin was saying softly, as if repeating a caution voiced before.

“Of course not,” Daisy snorted, but not much louder. “If the fools find out the women are on half rations, they’ll insist on eating the same, and we can’t ...”

Perrin closed his eyes, tried to close his ears. Of course. The men did the fighting, at least that on the front lines. The men had to keep their strength up. Simple. At least the Theren women were smart enough to stay back when it came to pushing spears among the stakes. The outlanders were a stranger breed. That was the reason he had found the bow for Faile. She had the heart of a leopard, and more courage than any two men.

“I think it is time you went to bed, Perrin,” Bran suggested. “You cannot go on like this, sleeping an hour here and an hour there.”

Scrubbing his beard vigorously, Perrin tried to look alert. “I’ll sleep later.” When it was over. “Are the men getting enough sleep? I’ve seen some sitting up when they should be—”

The front door banged open to admit skinny Dannil Lewin out of the night, bow in hand and all in a lather. He wore one of the swords from the barrel on his hip; Tam had been giving classes when he had the time, and sometimes one of the Warders did as well.

Before Dannil could open his mouth, Daisy snapped, “Were you raised in a barn, Dannil Lewin?”

“You can certainly treat my door a little more gently. I only just got it fixed,” Marin divided her meaningful look between the lanky man and Daisy, a reminder that it was her door.

Dannil ducked his head, clearing his throat. “Pardon, Mistress al’Vere,” he said hastily. “Pardon, Wisdom. Sorry to burst in, but I’ve a message for Perrin.” He hurried to the table of men as if afraid the women would stop him again. “The Whitecloaks brought in a man who wants to talk to you, Perrin. He won’t talk to anybody else. He’s hurt bad, Perrin. They only brought him to the edge of the village. I don’t think he could make it as far as the inn.”

Perrin pushed himself to his feet. “I’m coming.” Not another attack, at any rate. They were worse at night.

Faile snatched up her bow and joined him before he reached the door. And Aram stood up, hesitating, from the shadows on the foot of the stairs. Sometimes Perrin forgot the man was there, he kept so still. He looked odd with that sword strapped on his back atop his grimy, yellow-striped Tinker coat, his eyes so bright, hardly ever seeming to blink, and his face without expression. Neither Raen nor Ila had spoken to their grandson since the day he picked up that sword. Nor to Perrin, either.

“If you’re coming, come,” he said gruffly, and Aram fell in at his heels. The man followed him like a hound whenever he was not pestering Tam or Lan or Ihvon to teach him that sword. It was as if he had replaced his family and people with Perrin. Perrin would have done without the responsibility if he could, but there it was.

Moonlight shone down on thatched roofs. Few houses had a light in more than one window. Stillness clung to the village. Some thirty of the Companions stood guard outside the inn with their bows, as many wearing swords as could find them; everyone had adopted that name, and Perrin found himself using it, too, to his private disgust. The reason for guards on the inn, or wherever Perrin or Rand was, lay in yesterday’s murder of Hurin. Perrin ground his teeth at the recollection. Worse even than that death, tragic as it had been, was the thought that whoever had done it might get to Faile, Rand, Anna, Emi, or any of his other friends.

Campfires crowded above the Winespring, beyond where that fool wolfhead banner hung limp now, bright pools in the darkness surrounded by pale cloaks gleaming with the moon. No-one had wanted Whitecloaks in their homes, already crowded, and Bornhald did not want his soldiers split up in any case.

Dannil readied ten Companions to escort Perrin, all young men who should have been laughing and carousing with him, all with bows ready to see him safe. Aram did not join them as Dannil led the way down the dark, dirt street; it was Perrin he was with and no-one else. Faile kept hard by Perrin’s side, dark eyes shining in the moonlight, scanning the surroundings as though she were his whole protection.

Where the Old Road entered Emond’s Field the blocking wagons had been drawn aside to admit the Whitecloak patrol, twenty snowy-cloaked men with lances who sat their horses in burnished armour, no less impatient than their stamping mounts. They stood out in the night for any eye, and most Trollocs could see as well in darkness as Perrin, but the Whitecloaks insisted on their patrols. Sometimes their scouting had brought warnings, and maybe their harassment kept the Trollocs a little off balance. It would have been good, though, if he had known what they were doing before it was done.

A cluster of villagers and farmers wearing bits of old armour and a few rusty helmets stood clustered around a man in a farmer’s coat lying in the roadway. They gave way for Faile and him, and he went to one knee beside the man.

The odour of blood was strong; sweat glistened on the man’s moon-shadowed face. A thumb-thick Trolloc arrow like a small spear was stuck through his chest. “Perrin—Goldeneyes,” he muttered hoarsely, labouring for breath. “Must—get through—to Perrin—Goldeneyes.”

“Has someone sent for one of the Aes Sedai?” Perrin demanded, lifting the man as gently as he could, cradling his head. He did not listen for the answer; he did not think this man would last till an Aes Sedai came. “I am Perrin.”

“Goldeneyes? I—cannot see—very well.” His wide, wild stare was right at Perrin’s face; if he could see at all, the fellow must see his eyes shining golden in the dark.

“I am Perrin Goldeneyes,” he said reluctantly.

The man seized his collar, pulling his face close with surprising strength. “We are—coming. Sent to—tell you. We are co—” His head fell back, eyes staring at nothing now.

“The Light be with his soul,” Faile murmured, slinging her bow across her back.

After a moment Perrin pried the man’s fingers loose. “Does anyone know him?” The Theren men exchanged glances, shook their heads. Perrin looked up at the mounted Whitecloaks. “Did he say anything else while you were bringing him in? Where did you find him?”

Jaret Byar stared down at him, gaunt-faced and hollow-eyed, an image of death. The other Whitecloaks looked away, but Byar always made himself meet Perrin’s yellow eyes, especially at night, when they glowed. Byar growled under his breath—Perrin heard “Shadowspawn!”—and booted his horse in the ribs. The patrol galloped into the village, as eager to be away from Perrin as from Trollocs. Aram stared after them, expressionless, one hand over his shoulder to finger his sword hilt.

“They said they found him three or four miles south.” Dannil hesitated, then added, “They say the Trollocs are all scattered out in little bunches, Perrin. Maybe they’re finally giving up.”

Perrin laid the stranger back down.  _ We are coming _ . “Keep a close watch. Maybe some family who tried to hold on to their farm is finally coming in.” He did not believe anyone could have survived out there this long, but it might be so. “Don’t shoot anybody by mistake.” He staggered to his feet, and Faile put a hand on his arm.

“It is time you were in bed, Perrin. You have to sleep sometime.”

He only looked at her. He should have made her stay in Andor. Somehow, he should have made her. If he had only thought well enough he could have.

One of the runners, a curly-haired boy about chest-high, slipped through the Theren men to tug at Perrin’s sleeve. Perrin did not know him; there were many families in from the countryside. “There’s something moving in the Westwood, Lord Perrin. They sent me to tell you.”

“Don’t call me that,” Perrin told him sharply. If he did not stop the children, the Companions were going to start using it, too. “Go tell them I will be there.” The boy darted away.

“You belong in your bed,” Faile said firmly. “The others can handle any attack very well.”

“It isn’t an attack, or the boy would have said so, and somebody would be sounding Cenn’s bugle.”

She hung on to his arm, trying to pull him toward the inn, and so she was dragged along when he started the opposite way. After a few futile minutes she gave up and pretended she had been merely holding his arm all along. But she muttered to herself. She still seemed to think that if she spoke softly enough he could not hear. She began with “foolish,” “mule-headed,” and “muscle-brained”; after that it escalated. It was quite a little procession, her muttering at him, Aram heeling him, Dannil and the ten Companions surrounding him like a guard of honour. If he had not been so tired, he would have felt a proper fool.

There were guards spaced in small clusters all along the sharp stake fence to watch the night, each with a boy for a runner. At the west end of the village the men on guard were all gathered up against the inside of the broad barrier, fingering spears and bows as they peered toward the Westwood. Even with the moonlight, the trees had to be blackness in their eyes.

Ho’s cloak seemed to make parts of him vanish in the night. Bain and Chiad were with him; for some reason the two Maidens had spent every night at this end of Emond’s Field since Loial and Gaul left. “I’d not have bothered you,” the Warder said to Perrin, “but there only seems to be one out there, and I thought you might be able to ...”

Perrin nodded. Everyone knew about his vision, especially in darkness. The Theren people seemed to think it something special, something that marked him out an idiot hero. That belief persisted even with Raine there to prove that it wasn’t so unique. For some reason, they never seemed to bother her about this sort of thing. What the less-familiar Warders thought, or their Aes Sedai, he had no idea. He was too tired to care tonight. Seven days, and how many attacks?

The edge of the Westwood lay five hundred paces away. Even to his eyes the trees ran together in shadows. Something moved. Something big enough to be a Trolloc. A big shape carrying ... The burden lifted an arm. A human. A tall shadow carrying a human.

“We will not shoot!” he shouted. He wanted to laugh; in fact, he realized he was laughing. “Come on! Come on, Loial!”

The dim shape lumbered forward faster than a man could run, resolving into the Ogier, speeding toward the village, carrying Gaul.

Theren men shouted encouragement as if it were a race. “Run, Ogier! Run! Run!” Perhaps it was a race; more than one assault had come out of those woods.

Short of the stakes Loial slowed with a lurch; there was barely room for his thick legs to edge through the barrier sideways. Once on the village side, he let the Aielman down and sank to the ground, leaning back against the hedge, panting, tufted ears drooping wearily. Gaul limped on one leg until he could sit, too, with Bain and Chiad both fussing over his left thigh, where his breeches were ripped and black with dry blood. He only had two spears left, and his quiver gaped emptily. Loial’s axe was gone, too.

“You fool Ogier,” Perrin laughed fondly. “Going off like that. I ought to let Daisy Congar switch you for a runaway. At least you’re alive. At least you’re back.” His voice sank at that. Alive. And back in Emond’s Field.

“We did it, Perrin,” Loial panted, a tired drumlike boom. “Four days ago. We closed the Waygate. It will take the Elders or an Aes Sedai to open it again.”

“He carried me most of the way from the mountains,” Gaul said. “A Nightrunner and perhaps fifty Trollocs chased us the first three days, but Loial outran them.” He was trying to push the Maidens away without much success.

“Lie still, Shaarad,” Chiad snapped, “or I will say I have touched you armed and allow you to choose how your honour stands.” Faile gave a delighted laugh. Perrin did not understand, but the remark reduced the imperturbable Aielman to splutters. He let the Maidens tend his leg.

“Are you all right, Loial?” Perrin asked. “Are you hurt?”

The Ogier pulled himself up with an obvious effort, swaying for a moment like a tree about to fall. His ears still hung limp. “No, I am not hurt, Perrin. Only tired. Do not worry yourself about me. A long time out of the  _ stedding _ . Visits are not enough.” He shook his head as if his thoughts had wandered. His wide hand engulfed Perrin’s shoulder. “I will be fine after a little sleep.” He lowered his voice. For an Ogier, he did; it was still a huge bumblebee rumble. “It is very bad out there, Perrin. We followed the last bands down, for the most part. We locked the gate, but I think there must be several thousand Trollocs in the Theren already, and maybe as many as fifty Myrddraal.”

“Not so,” Luc announced loudly. He had galloped up along the edge of the houses from the direction of the North Road. He reined his rearing black stallion to a flashy halt, forehooves pawing. “You are no doubt fine at singing to trees, Ogier, but fighting Trollocs is something different. I estimate less than a thousand now. A formidable force to be sure, but nothing these stout defences and brave men cannot hold at bay. Another trophy for you, Lord Perrin Goldeneyes.” Laughing, he tossed a bulging cloth bag at Perrin. The bottom gleamed darkly wet in the moonlight.

Perrin caught it out of the air and hurled it well over the stakes despite its weight. Four or five Trolloc heads, no doubt, and perhaps a Myrddraal. The man brought in his trophies every night, still seeming to expect them to be put up for everyone to admire. A bunch of the Coplins and Congars had given him a feast the night he came in with a pair of Fades’ heads.

“Do I also know nothing of fighting?” Gaul demanded, struggling to his feet. “I say there are several thousand.”

Luc’s teeth showed white in a smile. “How many days have you spent in the Blight, Aiel? I have spent many.” Perhaps it was more snarl than smile. “Many. Believe what you wish, Goldeneyes. The endless days will bring what they bring, as they always have.” He pulled the stallion up on its hind legs again to whirl about, and galloped in among the houses and the trees that had once been the rim of the Westwood. The Theren men shifted uneasily, peering after him or out into the night.

“He is wrong,” Loial said. “Gaul and I saw what we saw.” His face sagged wearily, broad mouth turned down and long eyebrows drooping on his cheeks. No wonder, if he had carried Gaul for three or four days.

“You have done a lot, Loial,” Perrin said, “you and Gaul both. It is time for you to get some of that sleep you want.”

“And time for you as well, Perrin Aybara.” Scudding clouds made moonshadows play across Faile’s bold nose and high cheekbones. She was so beautiful. But her voice was firm enough for a wagon bed. “If you do not go now, I will have Loial carry you. You can hardly stand.”

Gaul was having trouble walking with his wounded leg. Bain supported him from one side. He tried to stop Chiad from taking the other, but she murmured something that sounded like “ _ gai’shain _ ” in a threatening way, and Bain laughed, and the Aielman allowed them both to help him, growling furiously to himself. Whatever the Maidens were going on about, it did have Gaul in a taking.

Ho clapped Perrin on the shoulder. “Go, man. Everyone needs to sleep.” He himself sounded good for three more days without it. “With that Waygate closed you’re going to need it. These Trollocs will be getting desperate enough to cook even someone as ropy as me.”

Perrin nodded.

He let Faile guide him back to the Winespring Inn with Loial and the Aiel following, and Aram and Dannil and the ten Companions encircling him.

* * *

Getting a moment alone with Emi had been hard, and now that he’d gotten it, Rand was afraid he was wasting his opportunity. Sara had only left at Emi’s bidding, and even then she’d seen fit to threaten Rand before letting herself out of Emi’s room. And now that they were alone at last, Emi just kept ignoring him.

“What good is this going to do, Emi? We need to talk,” he said exasperatedly.

She still refused to meet his eyes, preferring to sit there with her arms folded and that stubborn look on her face. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line? And never a good thing to say?”

“I don’t see why. Look, I know you’re upset that I wouldn’t let you go when you told me to, but you were in danger. I can’t apologise for wanting to protect you.”

She faced him then, shifting about on the bed until the stumps of her legs were displayed for all to see. He couldn’t help but feel it was deliberately done. “So you want to fix me, Rand? Wanna swoop in on your white charger and save the day? Stop the nightmares, the phantom limb pains? Restore what’s lost? Well you can’t. Nobody can. Nobody will.”

“I know that, love,” he said softly. “If wish I could do all of those things, but I can’t.”

She dashed a hand angrily across her eyes. “Don’t call me that!”

“Why not?”

She took a few deep breaths to calm herself before responding. When she did speak, it was in a voice of cool reason. “Because, Rand. I’ve already had everything I knew ripped away from me once. I don’t know what I’d do if it happened again. So I can’t rely on you. Or Perrin. Or anyone else. Just me. That’s how it’s got to be.”

He knew the source of her pain and her fear, and it filled him with sympathy. “It doesn’t have to be that way, Emi. You still have people who care about you, and you’ll meet even more of them in the future. You can beat this despair, I know you can.”

“See, this is exactly what I was worried about,” Emi said grimly, shaking her head. “You’re my lover, Rand, not my saviour. I don’t need your pity.”

Rand winced. “Sympathy and pity aren’t quite the same, Emi. It’s not an insult to worry about someone you like.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about me anymore, okay? I think it’s pretty clear we’re not right for each other, so maybe we should just ... stop.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his sluggish thoughts trying to make sense of all he was feeling. Hurt that she didn’t want him anymore, sad relief that she would be safely far away from him when the madness began to take hold, fear that no-one would realise how hurt she was and try to help her, or that if they did she wouldn’t let them.

“If that’s what you think is best for you,” he said at last. She turned her eyes away again, and set her jaw stubbornly. Rand hesitated to continue, but if this truly was the end for them, then perhaps he had nothing to lose, and no reason to hold back to avoid giving offense. “But I think this path you’ve chosen is the wrong one. Shutting yourself off like that might protect you from even more loss, and I can’t blame you for wanting to avoid that after all you’ve been through, but you’ll cut yourself off from so much that is good, too. You have such a big heart, Emi. It would be a tragic shame to let it turn cold. Almost as if Fain had won ...”

Emi’s hand snapped up to cover her mouth. He knew he’d stung her, but could think of no other way to get through to her. “You absolute bastard!” she hissed through her fingers.

He thought of the woman on the mountain again, the Maiden of the Spear, married to no man. “I suppose I am at that,” he said wryly.

“Get out! And don’t come back!” Emi demanded.

Rand raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, I’m going. But let me say one last thing first. I realise it might not seem so right now, but I still care for you, Emi. I always have, and I always will. Take care of yourself. Please.”

No tears fell from Emi Aybara’s eyes as Rand let himself out of her room. Her face was set in a hard and grim countenance, one that belied the youthfulness of her features. And one that it would take a better man that Rand to soften.

* * *

Perrin was not sure when the others fell away—somewhere between the part where Loial’s voice brought Rand clattering down the stairs, and the part where Lan and Tam followed Gaul off towards the Aiel camp, asking for details about the Trolloc force as they went—but somehow he and Faile were alone in his room on the second floor of the inn.

“Whole families are making do with no more space than this,” he muttered. A candle burned on the stone mantel over the small fireplace. Marin lit one here as soon as it turned dark so he would not have to be bothered. “I can sleep outside with Dannil and Ban and the others.”

“Do not be an idiot,” Faile said, making it sound affectionate. “If the Aes Sedai each has their own room, you should, too.”

He realized she had his coat off and was untying the laces of his shirt. “I am not too tired to undress myself.” He pushed her gently outside.

“You take everything off,” she ordered. “Everything, do you hear? You cannot sleep properly fully dressed, the way you seem to think.”

“I will,” he promised. When he had the door closed, he did tug off his boots before lying down. Marin would not like dirty boots on her coverlet.

Thousands, Gaul and Loial said. Yet how much could the two of them have seen, hiding on the way into the mountains, fleeing on the way back? Maybe one thousand at most, Luc claimed, but Perrin could not make himself trust the man, for all the trophies he brought in. Scattered, according to the Whitecloaks. How close could they have come, armour and cloaks shining in the darkness like lanterns?

There was a way to see for himself, perhaps. He had avoided the wolf dream since his last visit; the desire to hunt down this Slayer and avenge Hopper rose up whenever he thought of going back, and his responsibilities lay here in Emond’s Field. But now, perhaps ... Sleep rolled in while he was still considering.

He stood on the Green bathed by an afternoon sun low in the sky, a few white clouds drifting. There were no sheep or cattle around the tall pole where a breeze ruffled the red wolfhead banner, though a bluefly buzzed past his face. No people among the thatched houses. Small piles of dry wood atop ashes marked the Whitecloaks’ fires; he had rarely seen anything burning in the wolf dream, only what was ready to burn or already charred. No ravens in the sky.

As he scanned for the birds, a patch of sky darkened, became a window to somewhere else. Mat stood naked and bound, snarling; an odd spear with a black shaft had been thrust across his back behind his elbows, and a silver medallion, a foxhead, hung on his chest. Mat vanished, and it was Rand. Perrin thought it was Rand. He wore rags and a rough cloak, and a bandage covered his eyes. The window disappeared; the sky was only sky, empty except for the clouds.

Perrin shivered. These wolf-dream visions never seemed to have any real connection to anything he knew. Maybe here, where things could change so easily, worry over his friends became something he could see. Whatever they were, he was wasting time fretting at them.

He was not surprised to find he wore a blacksmith’s long leather vest and no shirt, but when he put a hand to his belt, he found the hammer, not his axe. Frowning, he concentrated on the long half-moon blade and thick spike. That was what he needed now. That was what he was now. The hammer changed slowly, as if resisting, but when the axe finally hung in the thick loop, it kept shining dangerously. Why did it fight him so? He knew what he wanted. A filled quiver appeared on his other hip, a longbow in his hand, a leather bracer on his left forearm.

Three land-blurring strides took him where the nearest Trolloc camps supposedly lay, three miles from the village. The last step landed him among nearly a dozen tall heaps of wood laid on old ashes amid trampled-down barley, the logs mixed with broken chairs and table legs and even a farmhouse door. Great black iron cauldrons stood ready to be hung over the laid cook fires. Empty cauldrons, of course, though he knew what would be cut up into them, what would be spitted on the thick iron rods stretched over some of the fires. How many Trollocs would these fires serve? There were no tents, and the blankets scattered about, filthy and stinking of old acrid Trolloc sweat, were no real guide; many Trollocs slept like animals, uncovered on the ground, even hollowing out a hole to lie in.

In smaller steps that covered no more than a hundred paces each, the land seeming only to haze, he circled Emond’s Field, from farm to farm, pasture to barley field to rows of tabac, through scattered copses of trees, along cart tracks and footpaths, finding more and more clusters of waiting Trolloc fires as he slowly spiralled outward. Too many. Hundreds of fires. That had to mean several thousand Trollocs. Five thousand or ten or twice that—it would make little difference to Emond’s Field if they all came at once.

Farther south the signs of Trollocs vanished. Signs of their immediate presence, at least. Few farmhouses or barns stood unburned. Scattered fields of charred stubble remained where barley or tabac had been torched; others had great swathes trampled through the crops. No reason for it but the joy of destruction; the people had been long gone when most of it was done. Once he lighted in the midst of large patches of ash, some charred wagon wheels still showing hints of bright colour here and there. The site of the  _ Tuatha’an _ caravan’s destruction pained him even more than the farmhouses. The Way of the Leaf should have a chance. Somewhere. Not here. Not letting himself look, he leaped south a mile or more.

Eventually he came to Deven Ride, rows of thatch-roofed houses surrounding a Green and a pond fed by a spring walled ’round with stone, the spillover splashing from cuts long since worn deeper than they had been made. The inn at the head of the Green, The Goose and Pipe, was roofed with thatch, too, yet a little larger than the Winespring Inn, though Deven Ride surely had even fewer visitors than Emond’s Field. The village was certainly no bigger. Wagons and carts drawn close by every house spoke of farmers who had fled here with their families. Other wagons blocked the streets and the spaces between the houses all the way around the edge of the village. The precautions were not enough to have halted even one of the assaults made on Emond’s Field the last seven days.

In three circuits around the village Perrin found only half a dozen Trolloc camps. Enough to keep people in. Pen them until Emond’s Field was dealt with. Then the Trollocs could fall on Deven Ride at the Fades’ leisure. Perhaps he could find a way to get word to these villagers. If they fled south, they might find some way across the White River. Even trying to cross the trackless Forest of Shadows below the river was better than waiting to die.

The golden sun had not moved an inch. Time was different, here.

Running north as hard as he could, even Emond’s Field passed by in a blur. Watch Hill on its round prominence was bordered as Deven Ride had been with wagons and carts between the houses. A banner waved lazily in the breeze, on a tall pole in front of the White Boar on the hill’s crest. A red eagle flying across a field of blue. The Red Eagle had been the symbol of Manetheren. Perhaps Alanna or Maigan had told ancient stories while they were in Watch Hill.

Here, too, he found only a few Trolloc camps, enough to pen the villagers. There was an easier way out from here than trying to cross the White, with its endless stretch of rapids.

On northward he ran, to Taren Ferry, on the bank of the Tarendrelle, which he had grown up calling the River Taren. Tall, narrow houses built on high stone foundations to escape the Taren’s yearly flooding when the snows melted in the Mountains of Mist. More than half those foundations supported only piles of ash and charred beams in that unchanging afternoon light. There were no wagons here, no signs of any defence. And no Trolloc camps that he could find. Perhaps no people remained here.

At the water’s edge stood a stout wooden dock, a heavy rope drooping as it arced across the swift-flowing river. The rope ran through iron rings on a flat-decked barge snugged against the dock. The ferry was still there, still usable.

A jump took him across the river, where wheel ruts scarred the bank and household objects lay about. Chairs and stand-mirrors, chests, even a few tables and a polished wardrobe with birds carved on the doors, all the things panicked people had tried to save, then abandoned to run faster. They would be spreading the word of what had happened here, what was happening in the Theren. Some could have reached Baerlon by now, a hundred miles or more north, and surely the farms and villages between Baerlon and the river. Word spreading. In another month it might reach Caemlyn, and Queen Morgase with her Queen’s Guards and her power to raise armies. A month with luck. And as much to return, once Morgase believed. Too late for Emond’s Field. Maybe too late for the whole Theren.

Still, it hardly made sense that the Trollocs had let anyone escape. Or the Myrddraal at any rate. Trollocs did not seem to think much beyond the moment. He would have thought destroying the ferry would have been the Fades’ first task. How could they be sure there were not enough soldiers at Baerlon to come down on them?

He bent to pick up a doll with a painted wooden face, and an arrow streaked through where his chest had been.

Springing out of his crouch he leaped up the bank, a blur streaking a hundred paces into the woods to crouch below a tall leatherleaf. Brush and flood-toppled trees woven with creepers covered the forest floor around him.

Slayer. Hopper’s murderer. Perrin had an arrow nocked, and wondered if he had drawn it from his quiver or simply thought it there. Slayer.

On the point of leaping away again, he paused. Slayer would know roughly where he was. Perrin had followed the man’s blurring form easily enough; that elongated streak was clear if you were standing still. Twice now he had played the other’s game and nearly lost. Let Slayer play his this time. He waited.

Ravens swooped above the treetops, searching and calling. No movement to give him away; not a twitch. Only his eyes moved, studying the forest around him. A vagrant puff of air brought him a cold smell, human yet not, and he smiled. No sound save the ravens, though; this Slayer stalked well. But he was not used to being hunted. What else did Slayer forget beside smells? He surely would not expect Perrin to remain where he had landed. Animals ran from the hunter; even wolves ran.

A hint of movement, and for an instant a face appeared above a fallen pine some fifty paces away. The slanting light illuminated it clearly. Dark hair and blue eyes, a face all hard planes and angles, so reminiscent of Lan’s face. Except that in that brief glimpse Slayer licked his lips twice; his forehead was creased, and his eyes darted as they searched. Lan would not have let his worry show if he stood alone against a thousand Trollocs. Just an instant, and the face was gone again. The ravens darted and swirled above as if they shared Slayer’s anxiety, fearing to come below the treetops.

Perrin waited and watched, motionless. Silence. Only the cold smell to say he was not alone with the ravens overhead.

Slayer’s face appeared again, peering around a thick-boled oak off to his left. Thirty paces. Oaks killed most of what grew close to them; only a few mushrooms and weedy things sprouted from the leafy mulch beneath its limbs. Slowly the man emerged into the open, boots making no sound.

In one motion Perrin drew and fired. The ravens screamed warning, and Slayer spun to take the broadhead shaft in his chest, but not through the heart. The man howled, clutching the arrow with both hands; black feathers rained down as the ravens beat their wings in a frenzy. And Slayer faded, him and his cry together, growing misty, transparent, vanishing. The ravens’ shrieks vanished as if severed with a knife; the arrow that had transfixed the man dropped to the ground. The ravens were gone, too.

With a second shaft half-drawn, Perrin exhaled slowly, let off his tension on the bowstring. Was that how you died here? Simply fading away, gone forever?

“At least I finished him,” he muttered. And let himself be diverted in the process. Slayer was no part of why he had come to the wolf dream. At least the wolves were safe now. The wolves—and maybe a few others. It was small comfort, given what Slayer had done to Hopper, but it would have to do.

He stepped out of the dream ...

... and woke staring at the ceiling, his shirt clinging sweatily. The moon gave a little light through the windows. There were fiddles playing somewhere in the village, a wild Tinker tune. They would not fight, but they had found a way to help, by keeping spirits up.

Slowly Perrin sat up, pulling on his boots in the pale-lit dark. How to do what he had to do? It would be difficult. He had to be cunning. Only, he was not sure he had ever been cunning in his life. Standing, he stamped his feet to settle them in.

Sudden shouts outside and a fading clatter of hooves made him stride to the nearest window and throw up the sash. The Companions were milling about below. “What’s going on down there?”

Thirty faces turned up to him, and Ban al’Seen yelled, “It was Lord Luc, Lord Perrin. He nearly rode down Wil and Tell. I don’t think he even saw them. He was all hunched over in his saddle like he was hurt, and spurring that stallion for all he was worth, Lord Perrin.”

Perrin tugged at his beard. Luc had certainly not been wounded earlier. Luc ... and Slayer? It was impossible. Dark-haired Slayer looked like Lan’s brother or cousin; if Luc, with his red-gold hair, resembled anyone, maybe it was Rand a little. The two men could not have been more dissimilar. And yet ... That cold smell. They did not smell the same, but both had an icy, hardly human scent.

“Ban,” he called, “if Luc shows up again, he’s to be put under guard and kept there.” He paused long enough to add, “And don’t call me that!” before hauling the sash down with a bang.

Luc and Slayer; Slayer and Luc. How could they be the same? It was impossible. But then, less than two years gone he had not really believed in Trollocs or Fades. Time enough to worry about it if he ever laid hands on the man again. Now there was Watch Hill and Deven Ride and ... Some could be saved. Not everyone in the Theren had to die.

* * *

Loial had been too tired to say much when Rand, Min, Anna and the rest had clustered around him, but that was fine. Rand was just glad to have him back safely. That and the news that the Waygate had been safely locked made him feel like two boulders had been lifted from his shoulders. Without the possibility of the Shadow receiving reinforcements, the battle here in the Theren took on an entirely different shape.

While Loial stumbled off to get some sleep, Rand headed out to the Aiel camp. Lan and Tam had gone there with Gaul. Between them and Urien, they should be able to get a good feel for what needed to be done to finish this.

When he arrived, he found that Uno and Geko had set aside their distrust of Aiel long enough to join the conference. They saluted when they saw Rand, but everyone else greeted his arrival with casual disinterest.

“What is your best estimate of their numbers?” Tam asked.

Gaul was trying his best to pretend that Bain and Chiad weren’t holding him by the arms, either restraining or supporting him, it was hard to tell which. “Two thousand Trollocs and fifty Nightrunners at the least. No more than three thousand Trollocs. We did not have time for a full scouting.”

“As if a Stone Dog would know anything of scouting,” Bain said to Chiad. Gaul’s face hardened, but he continued to ignore them.

“If they continue to raid us like they have, we can whittle that number down pretty quickly,” one-armed Geko said. “But I doubt the Fades will be so foolish.”

“No,” Lan agreed.

“Then it will be either one more climactic battle, or a long siege,” Tam said. “Better for us if it’s the former. Supplies are running low, so we’ll have to sortie soon.”

“The Theren clan have proven stronger than expected,” Urien said. “Are they stealthier, too? These aptly-named woods offer many places to hide.”

“We can hunt, if it comes to that,” Tam sighed. “But casualties will be high.”

“Is there any way we could provoke them into attacking?” Rand asked.

Tam looked dubious. “They have to know you’re here by now. If that hasn’t inspired them to action, I can’t imagine what might.”

Rand wracked his brain for a solution. Perhaps if they made one side of the defence look weaker than it was, to draw the Trollocs in. Or a small party might venture out and raid the raiders, stoking their anger until they lost control and charged the stakes. Neither idea was without its risks. If any of the other men gathered around had a better notion, they did not put if forward.

“Whatever bloody happens will bloody happen,” Uno rasped. “We’ll just have to be ready for whatever it is.”

“In the absence of a true plan, rest would be the wisest action,” Geko added.

“See? Even the Shienaran knows better than you, Shaarad,” Chiad teased.

Gaul had had enough. “I am flattered by your interest in my blankets, Goshien. If a little surprised,” he said, his face as expressionless as his voice.

Chiad released his arm, making a sound like a scalded cat. She looked a bit like one, too, when she stalked away like that. Bain left more slowly, giving Gaul a warning glare as she did so.

Urien chuckled, but everyone else just looked uncomfortable. Except Lan, naturally. He just looked like a painted marble statue. His expression didn’t alter when he looked at Rand either.

“You should be getting back to the inn, sheepherder,” he said. “You should not have left it, or Moiraine’s protection. There is still an assassin on the loose.”

Uno and Geko’s faces weren’t the only ones to harden over that. “I hadn’t forgotten,” Rand said. But he took Lan’s advice and set off back towards the Winespring Inn, with Tam and the Warder shadowing him along the way.

They weren’t far from the Winespring when the sound of a horse galloping along the dirt street made Rand fetch up. A dark beast approached them rapidly, clearing illuminated by the torchlight. Luc was atop its back, hunched over and clutching his side.

Rand frowned, wondering what had happened, but he had only a moment to spare for that wondering, because Luc didn’t rein in at the sight of the three men blocking the street in front of him. Rand could have dived out of the way, and trusted Tam and Lan to do the same, but he made the snap decision that even the slightest possibility that Luc might hit them was unacceptable. He snatched at  _ saidin _ , and quickly wove Air and Spirit, slapping the horse with something that he hoped would startle but not harm it.

The improvised weave worked, and Luc’s horse skidded to a halt, throwing the man himself over its head. He struck the ground hard, but even in his current state he had the presence of mind to roll with the impact. The Hunter came to a rest on his hands and knees before them, his finery stained and his mature face creased with pain and anger both.

Tam moved to help him up. “Are you injured?”

Luc slapped his hand away rudely. “I’m fine!”

Rand, who hadn’t liked Luc much to begin with, ground his teeth at seeing his father’s kindness disdained so shamefully. “What do you think you’re doing, galloping down a crowded street like that?” he said angrily. “You could have hurt someone.”

Angry blue eyes met his own. Almost he thought he saw hatred in them. “Truer words have never been spoken, though I daresay a fool like you can’t fathom exactly how true they are.”

Lan’s hand was on his swordhilt. “Explain yourself,” he said coldly.

Luc’s smile showed more teeth than it did amusement. “To you, Mandragoran? I think not.” Then he disappeared. He didn’t just run around a corner, or duck into a shadowed alcove. No, one moment he was kneeling there in the middle of the torchlit street, and the next there was only empty space where once he had been. Even the wind did not react to his passing.

Lan ripped his sword from its scabbard and spun in a circle with the blade held at high guard. “Did he use ... that? Would you know?” he demanded.

Rand had his own sword out, and  _ saidin _ already filled him. “No. And yes. I could tell when the, ah, old one, used it at the Eye of the World,” he said as he moved to stand back to back with Lan and Tam, whose own blade was held at the ready.

He felt hidden eyes on him, and it was an oddly familiar feeling. A voice sounded from somewhere nearby, Luc’s voice, but different somehow, colder, with all pretence of joviality abandoned. “In all the years I have worked for him, none have seen my abilities and lived to tell of it. How irritating it is, that Ba’alzamon’s own prohibitions prevent me from killing you now, little Rand. But I can make you bleed in other ways.”

“Darkfriend! So Hurin’s suspicions were right. Is that why you killed him?” Rand spat.

Luc laughed. He laughed! “A waste of time, as it turns out, but yes. That sniffing nonsense was making me nervous. Small loss though. The man was a sycophant, fawning over some Aiel bastard the way he did.”

The anger that tightened Rand’s throat was so intense that he nearly lost  _ saidin _ . “He was ten times the man you are! And you know it. Come out of the shadows, if it’s not true!”  _ Come out so I can kill you, you murderous son of a bitch! _

Luc chuckled. “Do you think me that stupid, boy? I know what you are. I may even know it better than you do. But you don’t know who or what I am, do you? Neither you, nor your friend here, the false King of Malkier.”

“I am no king, false or otherwise,” Lan grated.

“Oh, I know that well,” Luc purred. “Isam told me everything. Best to stay close to your Aes Sedai leash holder, Mandragoran. Without her, or this stripling, to protect you, you wouldn’t stand a chance. Don’t worry though; we are patient, Isam and I. That will be a hunt long in the waiting. And one we will savour greatly.”

“Isam. Isam Chiendelna. Do you mean to say he is alive!?” Lan demanded. He sounded as close to anger as Rand had ever heard him.

There was a long pause before Luc spoke again, and when he did, it was with an eerie solemnity. “Are any of us?”

And then he was gone. Again, Rand could not see him leave, but that feeling of being watched disappeared, leaving a welcome rush of relief. It was soon followed by a surge of anger though. Relief? That Hurin’s murderer had escaped? What was wrong with him!? “I’m going to kill that man!” he growled.

Lan turned to face him, and there was a silent threat written on his countenance. “One of us will,” was all he said, at least with words.

The tale that Lord Agelmar had once told them, of the fall of Malkier, drifted across Rand’s mind. Isam had been the other child’s name, he recalled, the one that the treacherous aunt had wanted to put on the throne.  _ Lan’s cousin? A Darkfriend? _ No wonder the man was upset. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to find out a relative of yours served the Shadow.

* * *

On his way to the common room, Perrin paused at the top of the stairs. Aram stood up from the bottom step, watching him, waiting to follow where he led. Faile sat at a table by herself, while Anna had Min for company. That was usually the way of it with those three. Loial sat on a bench with his legs stretched out so they would fit under one of the tables, nearly doubled over so he could scribble furiously with a pen by the light of a candle. No doubt he was recording what had happened on the journey to close the Waygate. And if Perrin knew Loial at all, the Ogier would have Gaul doing it all, whether he had or not. Loial did not seem to think anything he himself did was brave, or worth writing down. He yawned regularly but that was apparently no excuse to put off writing down his notes. Except for them, the common room was empty. The front door opened to admit Bain and Chiad, temporarily increasing the volume of those fiddles he could still hear playing outside. He thought he recognized the tune. Not a Tinker song, now. “My Love Is a Wild Rose”.

Faile looked up at Perrin’s first step down, rising gracefully to meet him. Aram took his seat again when Perrin made no move toward the door.

“Your shirt is wet,” Faile said accusingly. “You slept in it, didn’t you? And your boots, I shouldn’t wonder. It has not been an hour since I left you. You march yourself back upstairs before you fall down.”

“Did you see Luc leave?” he said. Her mouth tightened, but sometimes ignoring her was the only way. She managed to win too often when he argued with her.

“He came running through here a few minutes ago and dashed out through the kitchen,” she said finally. Those were the words; her tone said she was not finished with him and bed.

“Did he seem to be ... injured?”

“Yes,” she said slowly. “He staggered, and he was clutching something to his chest under his coat. A bandage, maybe. Mistress Congar is in the kitchen, but from what I heard he all but ran over her. How did you know?”

“I dreamed it.” Her tilted eyes took on a dangerous light. She must not be thinking. She knew about the wolf dream; did she expect him to explain where Aram could hear? Loial was so absorbed in his notes he would not have noticed a flock of sheep herded into the common room. “Gaul?”

“Out with the other Aiel. Mistress Congar gave him a poultice for his leg. When the Aes Sedai wake in the morning, one of them will Heal him, if they think it serious enough.”

“Come sit down, Faile. I want you to do something for me.” She eyed him suspiciously, but let him lead her to a chair. When they were seated, he leaned across the table, trying to make his voice serious, but not urgent. On no account urgent. “I want you to take a message to Caemlyn for me. On the way, you can let Watch Hill know how things are here. Actually, it might be best if they crossed the Taren until it’s all done.” That had sounded properly casual; just a bit thrown in on the spur of the moment. “I want you to ask Queen Morgase to send us some of the Queen’s Guards. I know it’s a dangerous thing I’m asking, but Bain and Chiad can get you to Taren Ferry safely, and the ferry is still there.” Chiad stared at him anxiously. Why was she anxious?

“You will not have to leave him,” Faile told her. After a moment the Aiel woman nodded and took a seat on the bench beside Bain. Chiad and Gaul? They were blood enemies. Nothing was making sense tonight.

“It is a long way to Caemlyn,” Faile went on quietly. Her eyes very intent on his, but her face could have been wood for all the expression it had. “Weeks to ride there, plus however long it might take to reach and convince Morgase, then more weeks to return with the Queen’s Guards.”

“We can hold out that long easily,” he told her.  _ Burn me if I can’t lie as well as Mat! _ “Luc was right. There can’t be more than a thousand Trollocs still out there. The dream?” She nodded. At last she understood. “We can hold out here for a very long time, but in the meanwhile they’ll be burning crops and doing the Light knows what. We’ll need the Queen’s Guards to rid ourselves of them completely. You are the logical one to go. You know how to talk to a queen, being a queen’s cousin and all. Faile, I know what I’m asking is dangerous ...” Not as dangerous as staying. “... But once you reach the ferry, you’ll be on your way.”

He did not hear Loial approach until the Ogier laid his book of notes down in front of Faile. “I could not help overhearing, Faile. If you are going to Caemlyn, would you carry this? To keep it safe until I can come for it.” Squaring the volume up almost tenderly, he added, “They print many very fine books in Caemlyn. Forgive me for interrupting, Perrin.” But his teacup eyes were on her, not him. “Faile suits you. You should fly free, like a falcon.” Patting Perrin on the shoulder, he murmured in a deep rumble, “She should fly free,” then he made his way to the stairs and the bed than awaited him.

“He is very tired,” Perrin said, attempting to make it seem just a comment. The fool Ogier could ruin everything! “If you leave tonight, you can be at Watch Hill by daybreak. You’ll have to swing to the east; the Trollocs are fewer there. This is very important to me ... to Emond’s Field, I mean. Will you do it?”

She stared at him silently for so long he wondered if she meant to answer. Her eyes seemed to glisten. Then she got up and sat down on his lap, stroking his beard. “This needs trimming. I like it on you, but I do not want it down to your chest.”

He came close to gaping. She often changed the subject on him, but usually when she was losing an argument. “Faile, please. I need you to carry this message to Caemlyn.”

Her hand tightened in his beard, and her head swung as if she were arguing with herself inside her head. “I will go,” she said at last, “but I want a price. You always make me do things the hard way. In Saldaea, I would not have to be the one who asked. My price is ... a wedding. I want to marry you,” she finished up in a rush. Anna and Min turned their heads to gape at her.

“And I you.” He smiled. “We can say the betrothal vows in front of the Women’s Circle tonight, but I’m afraid the wedding has to wait a year. When you come back from Caemlyn—” She very nearly yanked a handful of beard out of his chin.

“I will have you for husband tonight,” she said in fierce, low tones, “or I will not go until I do!”

“Perrin—” Anna began, but he spoke right over her.

“If there was any way, I would,” he protested. “Daisy Congar would crack my head if I wanted to go against custom. For the love of the Light, Faile, just carry the message, and I’ll wed you the very first day I can.” He would. If that day ever came.

Suddenly she was very intent on his beard, smoothing it and not meeting his eyes. She started speaking slowly but picked up speed like a runaway horse. “I ... just happened to mention ... in passing ... I just mentioned to Mistress al’Vere how we had been travelling together—I don’t know how it came up—and she said—and Mistress Congar agreed with her—not that I talked to everybody! —she said that we probably—certainly—could be considered betrothed already under your customs, and the year is just to make sure you really do get on well together—which we do, as anyone can see —and here I am being as forward as some Domani hussy or one of those Tairen galls—oh, Light, I’m babbling, and you won’t even—”

He cut her off by kissing her as thoroughly as he knew how.

“Will you marry me?” he said breathlessly when he was done. “Tonight?” He must have done ever better with the kiss than he thought; he had to repeat himself six times, with her giggling against his throat and demanding he say it again, before she seemed to understand.

Which was how he found himself not half an hour later kneeling opposite her in the common room, in front of Daisy Congar and Marin al’Vere, Alsbet Luhhan and Neysa Ayellin and all the Women’s Circle. Loial had been roused to stand for him with Aram and Rand, who’d arrived back in time to hear the news and stammer some half-hearted congratulations. He and Anna didn’t look as happy for Perrin as he might have liked, but neither of them said a word of objection.

Bain and Chiad stood for Faile, and Min proved nice enough to volunteer to do the same, to round out the numbers, as she put it. She wasn’t able to stop herself from telling Perrin that she had warned him to be wary of falcons though. There were no flowers to put in her hair or his, but Bain, guided by Marin, tucked a long red wedding ribbon around his neck, and Loial threaded another through Faile’s dark hair, his thick fingers surprisingly deft and gentle. Perrin’s hands trembled as he cupped hers.

“I, Perrin Aybara, do pledge you my love, Faile Bashere, for as long as I live.”  _ For as long as I live and after _ . “What I possess in this world I give to you.”  _ A horse, an axe, a bow. A hammer. Not much to gift a bride. I give you life, my love. It’s all I have _ . “I will keep and hold you, succour and tend you, protect and shelter you, for all the days of my life.”  _ I can’t keep you; the only way I can protect you is to send you away _ . “I am yours, always and forever.” By the time he finished, his hands were shaking visibly.

Faile moved her hands to hold his. “I, Zarine Bashere ...” That was a surprise; she hated that name. “... do pledge you my love, Perrin Aybara ...” Her hands never trembled at all.


	78. Wedding Night

CHAPTER 75: Wedding Night

It had been beyond kind of Mistress Luhhan to turn over the use of her house to Perrin and Faile, since neither had a place here in Emond’s Field in which they could get some privacy. Mistress Luhhan had even found some flowers to decorate the bedroom with, despite the suddenness of the wedding. Which was not to say that flowers were much on Perrin’s mind that night, no matter how good they smelled.

There had been smiles and congratulations. People had been there, his cousin among them, but Perrin could not recall a word that was said. All he could think of was her. Faile. His falcon. His wife.

She wore her narrow-skirted grey dress, with its high and modest neckline. It hid everything, but somehow that just made her all the more attractive. He wanted to see what she was concealing under those womanly clothes.

Nevertheless, he kissed her lips tenderly and kept his hands from straying too far, once he’d kicked the door of the Luhhan’s familiar home closed behind them.

Faile gripped his beard and stared into his yellow eyes. “Perrin ni Aybara t’Bashere. My husband,” she said with great satisfaction. His heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t sure about giving up the Aybara name—that wasn’t how they did things in the Theren—but if it was her people’s custom, he would do it. For her.

She led him to the bed, nipping at his lips as they went. He was too fascinated by her lips to notice at what point she shed his coat and shirt. It was only when he felt her fingers combing through the hair on his chest that he became aware of his partial nudity.

Faile pushed him gently forwards until he was sitting at the foot of the comfortable old bed. She smiled down at him confidently, the curve of her full lips gentling the starkly chiselled panes of her cheeks and the curve of her nose.

Agile and slender, Faile needed no help to undo the buttons of her dress and ease her shoulders out of it, revealing the naturally tan skin of her body. Her cheeks darkened a little further as she pulled the dress and the shift beneath it downwards.

Perrin’s mouthed dried when he beheld her full breasts, their dark nipples straining out towards his touch. It would have been rude to refuse them, and Perrin had been raised to be polite. He squeezed her breath shuddering from her when he explored her breasts with his callused hands. She strained her chest towards him in response, gripping his thick forearms in her long-fingered hands.

She climbed into his lap of her own accord and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply now, the way she had been on their stolen moments alone this past week. It wasn’t quite the same though, for she’d never ground her hips against him as excitedly as she did now.

“I love you, Faile,” he said. “I want you so much.”

She smiled. “Good. Because I mean for you to have me. So much.” Despite her bold words, she broke down into a fit of giggles that only another thorough kissing could silence.

People often thought Perrin slow of wit, but that wasn’t true. He knew exactly what it meant when Faile lifted her hips to kneel above him. His hands slid down over the beautiful curves of her waist and hips, pushing the dress further down, over her waist and down to her knees. He had only a brief moment to glimpse the dark triangle of hair that crowned her sex, before Faile pounced upon him.

Her hands explored his body eagerly, slipping under the waistband of his trousers to seek out his private parts. The roughness of her touch spoke of her inexperience, but Perrin didn’t mind. That it was Faile touching him was thrill enough, he didn’t need any great technique to find wonder in the situation. She was younger than he was, and a highborn lady—he had little doubt that she was a virgin.

Perrin kicked out of his boots, and helped her free him from the last of his clothes. When they were naked at last, he placed his hands on her hips and lifted her as easily as though she were a child. He laid her down in the middle of the bed and rolled atop her, making sure to support his own weight. Even if it hadn’t been her first time, he could not imagine being rough with her, and knowing that it was made him even more inclined to be gentle.

He was, of course, very hard by then. Faile had parted her legs for him as soon as he laid her down, and when he moved his hand to her womanhood to check her readiness, she gasped her welcome of his touch. Warm honey covered his fingers when he stroked them along her soft furrow.

“Perrin,” she moaned, spurring him on.

He shifted his weight, moving between her splayed legs. Faile seemed eager to reciprocate what he was doing for her, because she reached down to grasp his stiff cock. Her eyes snapped open once her hand closed around it, and a flattering gasp escaped her when she looked down between them to see what he had to offer her.

“I’ll go slow,” he whispered.

“I can take anything you have to give,” she boasted.

Perrin wasn’t about to be moved by such talk. He moved the tip of his manhood to his new wife’s special entrance, savouring the light kiss of her warm lower lips upon him. Slowly, he moved his hips forward, parting those lips and easing his way into her. Faile didn’t let her pain show, she was too proud and too brave for that, but he stroked her silky dark hair soothingly nonetheless. Bit by bit, he worked his way inside. By the time he was done her legs were wrapped tight around his waist and she was rocking herself against him.

He captured Faile’s lips with his, her breast with his hand, and began riding her nice and slow. It felt so good, being one with her. His wife. First of his new family. It wasn’t just the pleasure of sex either; it was the healing of a hidden hurt, the transition from cold to warmth, grief to love. He wanted nothing more in life than to be with her like this forever. But secretly he knew that this marriage would be a brief one, for even if the Trollocs didn’t get him, Bornhald’s noose awaited.

Faile’s breath came faster and faster. He could feel her heart beating against his palm through the gloriously soft flesh of her breast; it was racing fit to match that of the bird she named herself. Once, when he was much younger, Perrin had found a sparrow with a broken wing. He’d picked it up and carried it back to the village, hoping that someone could heal it. Many of the villagers had made fun of him for that, but his mother had been all smiles. She’d helped him nurse it back to health, and when the time came to set it free again, she’d been right there at his side. The swift hammering of Faile’s heart reminded him of how the little bird had felt while he held it in his hands. He swore then that he would protect her from anything or anyone, no matter what the cost.

Faile’s climax took Perrin by surprise, but no more so than it did her. Her tilted eyes went wide, her mouth gaped open, and she screamed his name so loudly that he was glad anew that Mistress Luhhan had afforded them this moment of privacy. Perrin smiled down at her gently as he watched her come.

It took her a while to come back to her senses, but when she did, she began rocking against Perrin much more insistently. The touch of her hands against his back and his bottom became more assured, so much so that her long nails came close to scoring his flesh. It didn’t hurt, but the strange sensation and the knowledge of what it meant, drove Perrin to shame himself by increasing his pace. Every time he tried to make himself slow down and be gentler with her, Faile’s grasping hands would spur him on.

At war with himself, his cock grasped by his wife’s sweet pussy, Perrin was unable to contain himself. Craving release, his hips sped up. He reached around to clasp Faile’s taut little bottom as he pounded into her. He kept expecting her to tell him to stop being so rough, but she never did, perhaps because she was so inexperienced in such matters. The onus was on him then; he needed to take responsibility for the pace of their lovemaking. He knew that. But he was so close now.  _ Just a little more, Faile, please bear with me _ .

Perrin called out her name, just as she had called his, when he came inside his wife’s womb for the first time. The pleasure of that release was almost enough to drive all thought from his mind, but he maintained just enough awareness to keep his weight on his arms, instead of upon her fragile body.

“It’s so hot inside me,” Faile gasped in surprise, when she felt him filling her with his come. “That feels so good ...”

However good she felt, it couldn’t possibly compare to the bliss that settled over Perrin during that climax. In the aftermath, he rolled over to sprawl at her side, breathing heavily. Faile didn’t want to be parted from him even for a moment. She cuddled up against his side, and rested her black-haired head upon his shoulder, laughing softly.

“I love you,” Perrin murmured. It was the honest truth, too. She was fierce, brave, smart, beautiful. She was everything he could ask for in a wife. Why she’d decided to wed a simple blacksmith like him was beyond his understanding.

“I love you, too,” she said.

Perrin didn’t want to move from that spot. Not then, and not ever if he’d had his way. He settled for dragging the blankets half over them, making a snug little cocoon with the newly married couple in the middle. He drifted off to sleep that night to the lullaby of his wife’s slow and gentle breathing.


	79. Goldeneyes

CHAPTER 76: Goldeneyes

The common room of the Winespring Inn was silent but for the scratch of Perrin’s pen. Silent, and empty but for him and Aram. Late-morning light made small pools beneath the windows. No cooking smells came from the kitchen; there were no fires lit anywhere in the village, and even coals banked in ashes had been doused. No point in giving the gift of fire easy to hand. The Tinker—he sometimes wondered whether it was proper to think of Aram that way any longer, but a man could not stop being what he was, sword or no—stood against the wall by the front door, watching Perrin. What did the man expect? What did he want? Dipping his pen in the small stone ink jar, Perrin set aside the third sheet of paper and began a fourth.

Pushing through the door, bow in hand, Ban al’Seen rubbed an uneasy finger up and down his big nose. “The Aiel are back,” he said quietly, but his feet moved as if he could not make them be still. “Trollocs coming, from north and south. Thousands of them, Lord Perrin.”

“Don’t call me that,” Perrin said absently, frowning at the page. He had no way with words. He certainly did not know how to say things in the fancy way women liked. All he could do was write what he felt. Dipping the pen again, he added a few lines.

_ I will not ask your forgiveness for what I did. I do not know if you could give it, but I will not ask. You are more precious to me than life. Never think I have abandoned you. When the sun shines on you, it is my smile. When you hear the breeze stir through the apple blossoms, it is my whisper that I love you. My love is yours forever. _

_ Perrin _

For a moment he studied what he had written. It did not say enough, but it would have to do. He did not have the right words any more than he had time.

Carefully blotting the damp ink with sand, he folded the pages together. He wrote “Faile Bashere” on the outside.

He placed the letter in the middle of the mantel over the fireplace—perhaps it would reach her eventually—and adjusted the wide red marriage ribbon behind his collar so it hung down his lapels properly. He was supposed to wear it for seven days, an announcement to everyone who saw him that he was newly wed. “I will try,” he told the letter softly. Faile had tried to tie one in his beard; he wished he had let her.

“Pardon, Lord Perrin?” Ban said, still shifting his feet anxiously. “I didn’t hear.” Aram was chewing his lip, his eyes wide and frightened.

“Time to see to the day’s work,” Perrin said. Perhaps the letter would reach her. Somehow. He took his bow from the table and slung it on his back. Axe and quiver already hung at his belt. “And don’t call me that!”

In front of the inn, the Companions were gathered on their horses, Wil al’Seen with that fool wolfhead banner, the long staff resting on his stirrup iron. How long since Wil had refused to carry the thing? The survivors of those who had joined him the first day jealously guarded the right, now. Wil, with his bow on his back and a sword at his hip, looked proud as an idiot.

As Ban scrambled into his saddle, Perrin heard him say, “The man is as cool as a winter pond. Like ice. Maybe it won’t be so bad today.” He barely paid attention. The women who hadn’t joined Anna were gathered on the Green.

They made a circle three or four deep around the tall pole where the larger red wolfhead flapped out in a breeze. Three or four deep, shoulder to shoulder, with polearms made from scythes and pitchforks, and wood-axes, and even stout kitchen knives and cleavers. Throat tight, he mounted Stepper and rode toward them. The children were a tight mass inside the circle of women. All the children in Emond’s Field.

Riding slowly along the ranks, he felt the women’s eyes following him, and the children’s. Fear scent, and worry; the children showed it on their too-pale faces, but all smelled of it. He reined in where Marin al’Vere and Daisy Congar and the rest of the Women’s Circle stood together. Alsbet Luhhan had one of her husband’s hammers on her shoulder, and her Whitecloak helmet acquired the night of her rescue sat slightly crooked because of her thick braid. Nela al’Caar held a long-bladed carving knife firm in her hand, and had two more stuck behind her belt. Her sister Hanna had a poleaxe resting on her shoulder, the better to hold her youngest daughter’s hand.

“We have planned this out,” Daisy said, looking up at him as if she expected an argument and did not intend to allow it. She held a pitchfork, fastened to a pole nearly three feet taller than she, upright in front of her. “If the Trollocs break through anywhere, you men are going to be busy, so we will take the children out. The older ones know what to do, and they’ve all played hide-and-seek in the woods. Just to keep them safe until they can come out.”

The older ones. Boys and girls of thirteen and fourteen—the two Falmeran girls among them—had toddlers strapped on their backs, and held smaller children by the hand. Girls older than that stood in the ranks with the women; Bode Cauthon had a wood-axe gripped in both hands, her sister Eldrin a boar spear with a broad point. Boys older were out with the men, or up on the thatched rooftops with their bows. The Tinkers were in with the children. Perrin glanced down at Aram, standing by his stirrup. They would not fight, but each adult had two babes fastened on his or her back and another cradled in the crook of an elbow. Raen and Ila, each with an arm around the other, would not look at him. Just to keep them safe until they could come out.

Emi was there, too, looking furious at having to be carried around like a child. Perrin still worried about the changes that had come over her since that monster Fain slaughtered the rest of their kin. He had some ideas about what he could do to help her, but it looked as though he’d never get the chance to try and make them a reality.

“I’m sorry.” He had to stop and clear his throat. He had not meant it to come to this. Think as hard as he could, nothing else came that he could have done. Even giving himself to the Trollocs would not have stopped them killing and burning. The end would have been the same. “It was not fair, what I did with Faile, but I had to. Please understand that. I had to.”

“Don’t be silly, Perrin,” Alsbet said, voice emphatic but round face smiling warmly. “I can never abide it when you’re silly. Do you think we would expect you to do any different?”

A heavy cleaver in one hand, Marin reached up to pat his knee with the other. “Any man worth cooking a meal for would have done the same.” Of her daughters, only Berowyn was with her, the other three having taken up the bow at Anna’s urging.

“Thank you.” Light, but he sounded hoarse. In a minute he would be snuffling like a girl. But for some reason he could not smooth his voice. They must think him an idiot. “Thank you. I shouldn’t have fooled you, but she’d not have gone if she suspected.”

“Oh, Perrin.” Marin laughed. She actually laughed, with all they faced, and smelling of fear as she did; he wished he had half her courage. “We knew what you were up to before you ever put her on her horse, and I am not sure she didn’t as well. Women do find themselves doing what they don’t want just to please you men. Now you go on and do what you have to. This is Women’s Circle business,” she added firmly.

Somehow he managed to smile back at her. “Yes, mistress,” he said, knuckling his forehead. “Beg pardon. I know enough to keep my nose out of that.” The women around her laughed in soft amusement as he turned Stepper away.

Ban and Tell were riding right behind him, he realized, with the rest of the Companions strung out after Wil and the banner. He motioned the pair to come up beside him. “If things go badly today,” he said when they were on either side of him, “the Companions are to come back here and help the women.”

“But—”

He cut Tell’s protest short. “You do what I say! If it goes wrong, you get the women and children out! You hear me?” They nodded; reluctantly, but they did it.

“What about you?” Ban asked quietly.

Perrin ignored him. “Aram, you stick with the Companions.”

Striding along between Stepper and Tell’s shaggy horse, the Tinker did not even look up. “I go where you go.” He said it simply, but his tone left no room for argument; he was going to do as he wanted whatever Perrin said. Perrin wondered if real lords ever had problems like this.

At the west end of the Green, the Whitecloaks were all mounted, cloaks with the golden sunburst bright, helmets and armour gleaming, lance points shining, a long column of fours that stretched back between the nearest houses. They must have spent half the night polishing. Geofram Bornhald and Jaret Byar swung their horses to face Perrin. Bornhald sat straight in his saddle, despite his years, wearing a reluctant headsman’s look. Byar’s gaunt face twisted with an even deeper rage than usual as he stared at Perrin.

“I thought you would be at your places by now,” Perrin said.

“I will take the field when I judge it best, young Aybara,” Bornhald said tiredly.

Stepper tossed his head and snorted as if catching his rider’s mood. “Do you still believe I’m a Darkfriend, Bornhald? How many attacks have you seen so far? Those Trollocs have tried to kill me as much as anybody else.”

“Whether you are or are not concerns only the state of your soul. You are a convicted murderer, and the sentence for that has already been made known to you.”

Perrin patted Stepper’s neck to quiet the stallion. He had to keep these men. “You want me? Very well. When it’s over, when the Trollocs are done, I’ll not resist if you try to arrest me.”

“No!” Ban and Tell shouted together, and growls built behind them from the others. Aram peered up at Perrin, stricken.

Bornhald nodded thoughtfully. “A murderer, even he may have some sliver of honour. If this oath you keep to, I shall pray that the Creator takes it into account when judging you.” He turned his shrewd eyes on Perrin. “If.” So saying, he touched his heels to his horse’s flanks and moved off. Byar bared his teeth in a wordless snarl at Perrin before following.

“You do not mean to keep that promise?” Aram said anxiously. “You cannot.”

“I have to check everyone,” Perrin said. Small chance he would live long enough to keep it. “There isn’t much time.” He booted Stepper in the flanks and the horse leaped forward, toward the west end of the village.

Behind the sharp stakes facing the Westwood, men crouched with their spears and halberds and polearms fashioned by Haral Weyland, who was there in his blacksmith’s vest with a scythe blade on the end of an eight-foot shaft. Behind them stood the men with bows in ranks broken by four catapults, Abell Candwin walking along slowly to speak to each man.

Perrin reined in beside Abell. “Word is they’re coming from north and south,” he said quietly, “but keep a sharp eye.”

“We’ll watch. And I’m ready to send half my men wherever they are needed. They’ll not find Theren folk easy meat.” Abell’s grin was reminiscent of his son’s.

To Perrin’s embarrassment, the men raised a ragged cheer as he rode by, with the Companions and the banner at his heels: “Goldeneyes! Goldeneyes!” and now and then a “Lord Perrin!” He knew he should have stamped harder on that in the beginning.

It was only the men that cheered. The Theren women that Anna had gathered had been deployed to the west for now, since there was no channeler there. Like Abell, she would move to wherever she was needed once the fighting started. Anna’s grim and silent countenance nagged at him. It wasn’t that he wanted her to cheer him on—far from it!—it was just that he suspected her reasons for looking so grim had little to do with fear over what was coming, and more to do with disapproval over his marriage. It annoyed him. She’d made it perfectly clear that there was no future in their relationship. Why shouldn’t he move on, and marry a woman who wanted to marry him?

To the south, Tam had charge, more grim-faced than Abell and striding almost like a Warder, hand resting on his sword hilt. That wolfish, deadly grace looked strange on the blocky, grey-haired farmer. Yet his words to Perrin were not so different from Abell’s. “We Theren folk are a tougher lot than most know,” he said quietly. “Don’t you worry we will not do ourselves proud today.”

Rand had decided to make his stand there, alongside his father, which meant that that was where most of the Aiel and Shienarans would be, too. Perrin hadn’t liked asking Rand to send Uno and half a dozen lancers to the north side, but the plate-armoured soldiers might be needed, to stiffen the farmers’ spearwall. Rand hadn’t minded, once Perrin actually asked. The first time, when he’d just told him what he wanted, Rand had stared at him with unblinking coldness until Perrin modified his words.

The man himself had armoured up for this fight, the dull steel plate and mail almost completely hiding the red coat underneath. His open-faced helmet sat atop his head, the neckguard almost low enough to brush his shoulders. His sword and quiver hung from his belt, and his longbow was slung across his back. He didn’t look half as nervous as Perrin felt, standing there with Geko and Urien at his sides. Raine heeled him like a lost puppy, but that was another problem Perrin didn’t know how to fix. Min was there, too, instead of off with the other women where she belonged. He considered trying to persuade her to see reason about that but if he knew Rand at all then the argument had already been had. That Min was still here spoke of her stubbornness. Or perhaps her feelings for Rand.

Alanna was at one of the six catapults here, fussing over a large stone being lifted into the cup on the end of the thick arm, a confused-looking Merile hovering at her side. Ihvon sat his horse near her in his Warder’s colour-changing cloak, slender as a steel blade and alert as a hawk; there was no doubt he had chosen his ground—wherever Alanna was—and his fight—to bring her out alive whatever. He barely looked at Perrin. But the Aes Sedai paused, hands hovering over the stone, eyes following him as he passed. He could all but feel her weighing and measuring and judging. Those cheers followed him, too.

Where the hedge of stakes ran beyond the few houses east of the Winespring Inn, Jon Finngar and Rowan Hurn had charge between them. Perrin told them what he had Abell, and once again got much the same reply. Jon, in a mail shirt with holes rusted through in several places, had seen the smoke of his wife’s mill burning, and Rowan, with his lined face, was sure he had seen the smoke of nearby farms. Neither expected an easy day, but both wore stony determination like cloaks.

Maigan and her morose Warder Ho were there with them, which Perrin was glad of. Whatever his issues with Aes Sedai, he’d much rather have them around at times like this than have to do without them. A great many things could be tolerated for that kind of protection.

It was to the north that Perrin had decided to make his fight. Fingering the ribbon hanging down one lapel, he peered in the direction of Watch Hill, the direction Faile had gone, and wondered why he had chosen the northside.  _ Fly free, Faile. Fly free, my heart _ . He supposed it was as good a place to die as any.

Bran supposedly was in charge here, in his steel cap and disc-sewn metal jerkin, but he stopped checking the men along the hedge to give Perrin as much of a bow as his girth would allow. He’d tried to hand the command over to Lan, but the Warder had refused, claiming he would never lead men into battle against the Shadow. That certainly didn’t stop him from fighting, of course; he and Moiraine were there now, ready and waiting.

Gaul and Chiad stood ready, too, heads wrapped in  _ shoufa _ and faces hidden to the eyes behind black veils. Side by side, Perrin noted; whatever had passed between them, it seemed to outweigh their clans’ blood feud. Loial had a pair of wood-axes, dwarfed in his huge hands; his tufted ears thrust forward fiercely, and his wide face was grim.

_ Do you think I would run away? _ he had said when Perrin suggested he could slip off into the night after Faile. His ears had dropped with weariness and hurt.  _ I came with you, Perrin, and I will stay until you go. And then he had laughed suddenly, a deep booming sound that almost rattled the dishes. Perhaps someone will even tell a story of me, one day. We do not go in for such things, but there could be an Ogier hero, I suppose. A joke, Perrin. I made a joke. Laugh. Come, we will tell each other jokes, and laugh, and think of Faile flying free _ .

“It is no joke, Loial,” Perrin murmured as he rode along the lines of men, trying not to listen to their cheers. “You are a hero whether you want to be or not.” The Ogier gave him a tight, wide-mouthed grin before setting his eyes back on the cleared ground beyond the hedge. White-striped sticks marked hundred-pace intervals out to five hundred; beyond that lay quilted fields, tabac and barley, most trampled in earlier attacks, and hedges and low stone fences, and copses of leatherleaf, pine and oak.

So many faces Perrin knew in those waiting ranks of men. Stout Eward Cauthon and lantern jawed Paet Crawe with spears. White-haired Buel Dowtry, the fletcher, stood with the bowmen, of course. There was stocky, grey-haired Jac al’Seen and his bald cousin Wit, and gnarled Flann Lewin—a lanky beanpole like all of his male kin. Jaim Torfinn and Hu Marwin, among the first to ride after him; they had felt too uncomfortable to join the Companions, as if missing the ambush in the Waterwood had opened some gap between them and the others. Elam Dowtry, and Dav Ayellin, and Adan al’Caar. Hari Coplin and his brother Darl, and old Bili Congar. Dannen Luhhan, with his son at his side. Fat Athan Dearn, and Kevrim al’Azar, whose grandsons had grown sons, and Tuck Padwhin, the carpenter, and ...

Making himself stop counting them, Perrin rode to where Moiraine stood beside one of the catapults under the watchful eye of Lan on his black stallion. The slender, blue-clad Aes Sedai studied Aram a moment before turning her cool gaze up to Perrin, one eyebrow raised as if to question why he was bothering her.

“I am a little surprised to see Alanna and Maigan still here,” he told her. “Hunting girls who can learn to channel can’t be worth getting killed. Or keeping a string tied to a  _ ta’veren _ , either.”

“You think Aes Sedai would abandon this village to the Shadow? Even if Rand were not what he is, we would not simply leave, not when there is hope of victory.”

That didn’t really fit with his view of Aes Sedai, but before he could frame a response there came a shout from the north.

“ISAM!” The guttural roar rose like thunder, and Trollocs appeared, each half again as tall as a man and twice as wide, trotting into the fields to halt beyond bowshot, a hulking, black-mailed mass, deep and stretching the length of the village. Thousands of them packed together, huge faces distorted by beaks and snouts, heads with horns or feathered crests, spikes at elbows and shoulders, scythe-curved swords and spiked axes, hooked spears and barbed tridents, a seemingly endless sea of cruel weapons. Behind them, Myrddraal galloped up and down on midnight horses, raven-black cloaks hanging undisturbed as they whirled their mounts.

“ISAM!”

Lan flinched at that roar. He flinched! The man who had charged a Forsaken while armed only with a sword flinched at a word spoken by those inhuman voices. Perrin stared at that even more than at the size of the horde arrayed against them. He was not even sure it was a word. This was the first time the Trollocs had shouted anything remotely understandable.

Perrin was not, he realized, terrified, or even frightened. He felt ... excited. Ready for something to happen, almost eager. Determined. He recognized the feelings. They were what wolves felt just before they fought.  _ Burn me, I’d rather be afraid! _

Smoothing his marriage ribbon, he forced himself to ride calmly to the centre of the Theren line. The Companions formed behind him, the breeze lifting the banner with its red wolfhead. Aram had his sword out in both hands. “Be ready!” Perrin called. His voice was steady; he could not believe it.

“ISAM!” And the black tide rolled forward, howling wordlessly.

Faile was safe. Nothing else mattered. He would not let himself see the faces of the men stretched out to either side of him. He heard the same howls drifting from the south. Both sides at once. They had never tried that before. Faile was safe. “At four hundred paces ...!” All along the ranks, bows rose together. Closer the howling mass came, long thick legs eating ground. Closer. “Loose!”

The snap of bowstrings was lost in the Trolloc roar, but a goose-fletched hail streaked the sky as it arced out, plunged down into the black-mailed horde. Stones from the catapults erupted in fiery balls and sharp splinters in those seething ranks. Trollocs fell. Perrin saw them go down, trampled beneath boots and hooves. Even some Myrddraal fell. Yet the tidal wave rushed on, closing holes and gaps, apparently undiminished.

There was no need to order another volley. A second followed the first as quickly as men could nock arrows, a second rain of broadhead points rising before the first dropped, the third following behind, the fourth, the fifth. Fire exploded among the Trollocs as fast as the catapult arms could be winched down, Moiraine galloping from catapult to catapult to lean down from her saddle. And the huge bellowing forms came on, crying in no language Perrin understood, but crying for blood, human blood and flesh. Men crouching behind the stakes readied themselves, hefting their weapons.

Perrin felt cold inside. He could see the ground behind the Trolloc charge already littered with their dead and dying, yet it hardly seemed they were fewer. Stepper pranced nervously, but he could not hear the dun’s whicker for the rolling howls of Trollocs. The axe came into his hand smoothly, long half-moon blade and thick spike catching the sunlight. Not midday yet.  _ My heart is yours forever, Faile _ . This time, he did not think the stakes would ...

Not even slowing, the front rank of Trollocs ran onto the sharp stakes, faces contorted by snouts or beaks twisting with pained shrieks, howling as they were impaled, driven down by more huge shapes scrambling up over their backs, some of those falling among the stakes, replaced by more, always more. One last volley of arrows drove home at point-blank range, and then it was the spears and halberds and home-made polearms, thrusting and stabbing at towering forms in black mail, sometimes falling while the bowmen shot as best they could at the inhuman faces above their friends’ heads, boys shooting down from the rooftops as well, madness and death and earsplitting roars and screams and howls. Lan and the Shienarans hacked with brutal futility at the black tide, but slowly, inexorably, the Theren line bulged inward at a dozen places. If it broke anywhere ...

“Fall back!” Perrin bellowed. A boar-snouted Trolloc, already bleeding, forced its way through the ranks of men, shrieking and striking with its thick, curved sword. Perrin’s axe split its head to the snout. Stepper was trying to rear, screaming silently in the din. “Fall back!” Darl Coplin went down clutching a thigh transfixed by a wrist-thick spear; old Bili Congar tried to drag him backward while awkwardly wielding a boar spear; Hari Coplin swung his halberd in defence of his brother, mouth wide in a seemingly soundless shout. “Fall back between the houses!”

* * *

The arrows hadn’t been enough this time, nor Alanna’s exploding rocks. The dusky woman with the bright white smile had done nothing but help his people since coming to Emond’s Field, but Rand couldn’t help but wish she was elsewhere as he struck down the latest Trolloc to weave through the stakes at his part of their defensive line. If he’d had privacy, away from Aes Sedai eyes, he could have used something much more effective than plain steel against the Shadowspawn.

They had no shortage of skilled fighters on the southern side of the town. Mendao and Rikimaru killed Trollocs almost as swiftly as Tam did, and the other Shienarans weren’t too far behind them. Areku “danced” her axe alongside Rhian and the other Maidens, while Urien’s spear darted out with swift precision, to sever and stab and kill. Jec had quite a few men eager to fight beside her, Therener, Aiel and Shienarans alike, though she didn’t seem to be encouraging any one over the others. Renay and Airc fought side by side, while Aca stood at Tam’s other shoulder, opposite Rand. He was suddenly struck by how strange and disparate a group it was he found himself surrounded by, from familiar Therener faces, to darker Shienarans and lighter Aiel. Men and women, young and old, they were all united in that moment. United in defiance of the Shadow. Only Ihvon stood apart, preferring to guard Alanna’s back than try to help repel the Dark One’s horde.

Rand snorted softly to himself as he executed the final cut of Apple Blossoms in the Wind, opening the throat of a goat-faced Trolloc in the process. To think there had been a time he’d thought of Warders as legendary warriors who wandered the Great Blight fighting Shadowspawn. In truth, they were just very skilled bodyguards. Whether it was the Shadow they fought, or just other men, was entirely dependent on their Aes Sedai. For all their reverence of the White Tower, when pressed for details on how often the Aes Sedai were seen in the Borderlands, Uno and the others had admitted that it was a rare thing. If ever there had been a time Rand that had wanted to be a Warder, it was a time long gone now.

Battle cries went up from some of those who fought. The Aiel were as silent in their struggles as Rand was, but Marin’s brother Jon and Elam’s father, also Jon, joined with Jeri’s da Tod and Sascya’s son, also Tod, in calling for Manetheren, while the Shienarans shouted for the Light and the Black Hawk. One Shienaran in particular had Rand looking about himself worriedly when he began ranting of the Light’s Champion in between strokes of his sword. It wasn’t quite the same as naming Rand the Dragon Reborn, but Masema was coming far too close to it for Rand’s comfort. He hoped Alanna was really as distracted as she looked, galloping about on her horse behind their lines, because the last thing he needed was for her to start calling him a false Dragon just then.

“Rand!” Tam shouted, just a heartbeat before the blow connected.

He had just long enough to see it coming and try to twist away. It all happened so fast that there was no way for him to know if Tam’s cry had saved his life or not, but it was impossible not to be aware that it hadn’t stopped the Trolloc axe from crashing against his armoured shoulder, skidding off the metal and finding the gap there, before digging deep into the flesh underneath. Rand roared in pain as he staggered away from the Shadowspawn.

_ Fool! Wool-headed fool! You should have been watching the enemy and not that bloody Aes Sedai!  _ he cursed silently.

His father struck off the hand that held the axe that had cut Rand, then reversed his sword’s momentum and struck upwards, impaling the creature’s skull through the soft flesh under its jaw. Rand recognised the form through the red haze of his pain: The Tower of Time.

“Protect Lord Rand!” Geko shouted, his voice ringing with a command that his Shienaran armsmen hastened to obey. Geko himself had been holding back, as he had been forced to do at times like this ever since losing his arm, but on seeing Rand drop to one knee, he drew a shortsword and waded into the fray.

“Honour to you, Shienaran!” Harilin called as she fought on at Geko’s side.

As the line closed in to seal the gap that Rand’s foolishness had created, Raine crouched between him and anything that might slip past, a growl rumbling in her chest as she brandished her already-bloodied knives. The torn Tinker skirt she wore wasn’t long enough to completely cover her legs and the muscles there, which were corded tensely as though ready to spring.

Everyone else fought on, but Min and Merile descended on Rand in a babble of concern, and a hail of patting hands, asking him how badly he was hurt, if he could hear them, if he was bleeding. Telling him to hold on, to get up, to lie still. Too many words for Rand to respond to, even if he hadn’t been focused on trying to suppress the pain.

One voice stood out from the others though. It was a woman’s voice, one that rang with command in an accent that was, in this setting, uniquely hers. “Take him back to the inn!” Alanna ordered the other two women. “I will be there as soon as I can.”

Rand tried to wave off their concern, but the arm he tried to do it with refused to rise at his command. Face reddened by both shame and blood, he was forced to let Min and Merile lead him off towards the Winespring Inn, his bulk supported by their delicate frames, while the rest of his people fought on without him.

* * *

It was plain to see from Geofram’s vantage point, atop a low and exposed hill to the northeast of Emond’s Field, that the Shadowspawn had brought the bulk of their forces for this attack. He knew from long experience that today would mark the decisive battle of this campaign. Young Aybara’s forces were being pushed back, though they fought bravely as they did so, and forced the Shadow to pay a price in blood for each foot of soil across which they stepped. Geofram admired that. The Lord Captain Commander had been led to believe that these people were an enclave of Darkfriends, but there was little doubt in Geofram’s mind now that that had been a lie spread by that twisted creature Ordeith. Or Padan Fain, as his true name seemed to be.

He didn’t believe Aybara was a Darkfriend either, or al’Thor, and likely not the Cauthon boy that he hadn’t met. Unfortunately for everyone involved, being innocent of one crime did not make one innocent of all crimes. He just hoped the people here in Emond’s Field would see that when the time came. If they did not ...

One of Geofram’s men handed him a waterskin. He drank deep as he considered the likely outcome; it was icy in his throat.

“Byar!”

The gaunt-faced man came to attention, even while sitting his saddle. “Yes, my Lord Captain?”

“When I engage the enemy, Byar,” Geofram said slowly, “you will not take part. You will watch from a distance, and you will carry word to my son of what happens.”

“But my Lord Captain—!”

“That is my order, Child Byar!” he snapped. “You will obey, yes?”

Byar’s back stiffened, and he stared straight ahead. “As you command, my Lord Captain.” Geofram studied him for a moment. The man would do as he was told, but it would be better to give him another reason than letting Dain know how his father had died.

“When you have found my son—he should be near Tar Valon—and told him, you will ride to Amador, and report to the Lord Captain Commander. To Pedron Niall personally, Child Byar. Tell him of the fighting here, of how these people opposed the Shadow ... and of anything else that happens. Tell him of Ordeith’s lies, and his murders.”

“As you command, my Lord Captain,” Byar said, but Geofram sighed at the expression on his face. The man did not understand. To Byar, orders were to be obeyed whether they came from the Lord Captain Commander, his envoy, or any higher officer, whatever they were.

Nearly four hundred men lay spread out to either side of him, one long, mounted rank rippling along the hollows between hills. The wind tossed their white cloaks and flapped the banner at Geofram’s side, the wavy-rayed golden sun of the Children of the Light. The Trollocs were heavily engaged with the Theren foot. The few outliers they had left to try to guard their flank against the Children’s lancers would not pose much of an obstacle.

“Go now, Byar,” he commanded. The gaunt-faced man hesitated, and Geofram put a snap into his voice. “I said, go, Child Byar!”

Byar touched hand to heart and bowed. “As you command, my Lord Captain.” He turned his horse away, every line of him shouting reluctance.

Geofram put Byar out of his mind. He had done what he could, there. He raised his voice. “The legion will advance at a walk!”

With a creak of saddles the long line of white-cloaked men moved slowly toward Emond’s Field. From afar, he could see dying villagers being trampled under Trolloc boots. Or hooves. Innocent people who were surely not Darkfriends. Geofram could not allow it.

It was too soon, the town too far, but he drew his sword—lances were lowered all down the rank of his much-depleted legion—and called, “The legion will advance at a trot.”

* * *

Perrin was not sure whether others heard and passed the order to retreat, or the mountainous weight of Trollocs simply pressed in, but slowly, one grudging step at a time, the humans moved back. Loial swung his bloodied axes like mallets, wide mouth snarling. Beside the Ogier, Bran thrust his spear grimly; he had lost his steel cap, and blood ran in his fringe of grey hair. From his stallion Lan carved a space around Moiraine. Though coolly composed, the Aes Sedai fell back as well, abandoning the catapults; balls of fire streaked from her hands, and every Trolloc struck exploded in flames as if soaked in oil. Not enough to hold, even with Uno’s armoured soldiers trying to stiffen the line. The Theren men edged back, jostling around Stepper. Gaul and Chiad fought back-to-back; she had only one spear left, and he slashed and stabbed with his heavy knife. Back. To west and east men had curved out from the defences there to keep the Trollocs from flanking them, pouring arrows in. His sharp eyes picked out Anna, though even his ears could not hear what she was shouting to her women over the din of the battle. He could see them adding their arrows to the rain. Not enough. Back.

Suddenly a huge ram-horned shape was trying to pull Perrin out of the saddle, trying to climb up after him. Thrashing, Stepper went down under the combined weight. Leg pinned and pained near to breaking, Perrin struggled to bring his axe around, to fight hands bigger than an Ogier’s away from his throat. The Trolloc screamed as Aram’s sword sliced into its neck. Even as it collapsed atop Perrin, spraying blood, the Tinker spun smoothly to run another Trolloc through the middle.

Grunting with pain, Perrin kicked his way clear, aided by Stepper scrambling to his feet, but there was no time to think of remounting. He barely rolled aside as a black horse’s hooves stamped where his head had been. Pale, eyeless face snarling, the Fade leaned from its saddle as he tried to rise, dead-black sword slashing, brushing his hair as he dropped. Ruthlessly he swung his axe, chopping one of the horse’s legs out from under it. Horse and rider toppled together; as they fell, he buried his axe where the Halfman’s eyes should have been.

He wrenched the blade free in time to see Daisy Congar’s pitchfork tines take a goat-snouted Trolloc in the throat. It seized the long shaft with one hand, stabbing a barbed spear at her with the other, but Marin al’Vere calmly hamstrung it with one blow of her cleaver; the leg gave way, and she just as coolly severed the Trolloc’s spine at the base of its neck. Another Trolloc lifted Bode Cauthon into the air by her braid; mouth wide in a terrified scream, she sank her wood-axe into its mailed shoulder just as her sister, Eldrin, thrust her boar spear through its chest and grey-braided Neysa Ayellin drove a thick butchering knife in as well.

All up and down the line, as far as Perrin could see, the women were there. Their numbers were the only reason the line still held, almost driven back against the houses. Women among the men, shoulder to shoulder; some no more than girls, but then, some of those “men” had never shaved yet. Some never would.

Kev al’Dai had already joined his father and elder brother in death. Perrin couldn’t even tell what had killed him, and from the look on poor little Kev’s face he hadn’t seen it coming either. Dannen Luhhan had to have been three times Kev’s weight, and all of that muscle, but that hadn’t been enough to save him. There were dead Trollocs at his feet, and another lying half-atop his corpse, but that didn’t bring him back to life, or prevent the grief his passing would cause. He’d been Alsbet’s brother, and Tief’s father, and so a friend by association twice over. And now he was dead because of Perrin’s failure. He wondered if Wit al’Seen and Flann Lewin would have been better off back on their farms, or if he should have told them to flee the Theren while they still could. He’d never be able to ask them now though, or apologise to their wives for their passing.

Worse than the deaths of so many men he’d known were the women he saw struck down. Perrin felt an echo of each blow they suffered, from the spear that impaled Nela al’Caar—a mother of four, and Bran’s sister—to the stray arrow that felled Ada Cole—a grandmother whose daughter Cilia had been the first girl Perrin ever kissed. He’d never be able to make it up to her, or to his deceased friend, Lem Thane, for letting his little sister Kari bleed to death in the dirt of their homeland.

_ Where are the Whitecloaks? _ The children! If the women were here, there was no one to get the children out.  _ Where are the bloody Whitecloaks? _ If they came now, at least they might buy another few minutes. A few minutes to get the children away.

And come they did. It was hard to see over the straining bodies of humans and Trollocs, but those bright white cloaks were unmistakable. They streamed in the wind as Bornhald’s men crashed into the Trolloc flank, the force of their impact bowling over more Trollocs than it killed, though the Whitecloaks soon set about finishing the former group as they tried to struggle back to their feet.

Bornhald had kept his word, and Perrin would keep his, too. If he survived long enough for them to speak again at least. A noose was a grim prize to fight for, but fight for it he did.

A boy, the same dark-haired runner who had come for him the night before, seized his arm as he turned to search for the Companions. The Companions had to try to cut a way out for the children. He would send them, and do what he could here. “Lord Perrin!” the boy shouted at him through the deafening din. “Lord Perrin!”

Perrin tried to shake him off, then snatched him up kicking under one arm; he belonged with the other children. Split up, in tight ranks stretching from house to house, Ban and Tell and the other Companions were shooting from their saddles, over the heads of the men and women. Wil had driven the banner’s staff into the ground so he could work his bow, too. Somehow, Tell had managed to catch up Stepper; the dun’s reins were tied to Tell’s saddle. The boy could go on Stepper’s back.

“Lord Perrin! Please listen! Master al’Thor says somebody’s attacking the Trollocs! Lord Perrin!”

Perrin was halfway to Tell, hobbling on his bruised leg, when it penetrated. He stuffed the axe haft through his belt to hoist the boy up in front of his face by the shoulders. “Attacking them? Who?”

“I don’t know, Lord Perrin. Master al’Thor said to tell you he thought he heard somebody shouting ‘Deven Ride’.”

Aram grabbed Perrin’s arm, wordlessly pointing with his bloody sword. Perrin turned in time to see a hail of arrows plunge into the Trollocs. From the north. Another flight was already rising toward the top of its arc.

“Go back to the other children,” he said, setting the boy down. He had to be up where he could see. “Go! You did well, boy!” he added as he ran awkwardly for Stepper. The little fellow scampered back into the village grinning. Every step sent a jolt of pain up Perrin’s leg; maybe the thing was broken. He had no time to worry about that.

Seizing the reins Tell tossed him, he hauled himself up into his saddle. And wondered if he was seeing what he wanted to see instead of what was really there.

Beneath a red-eagle banner at the edge of where the fields had been stood long rows of men in farmer’s clothes, shooting their bows methodically. And beside the banner, Faile sat Swallow’s saddle, Bain at her stirrup. It had to be Bain behind that black veil, and he could see Faile’s face clearly. She looked excited, fearful, terrified and exuberant. She looked beautiful.

Myrddraal were trying to turn some of the Trollocs around, trying to lead a charge against the Watch Hill men, but it was useless. Even Trollocs who did turn went down before they covered fifty strides. A Fade and its horse fell, not to arrows, but to panicked Trolloc hands and spears. It was the Trollocs moving back now, then running in a frenzy, fleeing shots from both sides once the Emond’s Field men had room to lift bows, too, Trollocs falling, Myrddraal going down. It was a slaughter, but Perrin hardly saw.  _ Faile _ .

The same boy appeared at his stirrup. “Lord Perrin!” he shouted. To be heard above cheering now, men and women shouting for joy and relief as the last Trollocs who had not made it out of bow range fell. Not many had, Perrin believed, but he was barely able to think.  _ Faile _ . The boy tugged at his breeches’ leg. “Lord Perrin! Master al’Thor said to tell you the Trollocs are breaking! And they are shouting ‘Deven Ride’! The men, I mean. I heard them!”

Perrin bent to ruffle the boy’s curly hair. “What’s your name, lad?”

“Jaim Aybara, Lord Perrin. I’m your cousin, I think. Sort of, anyway. My mum and I live down Deven Ride way. She’s off with Lady Anna now.”

Perrin squeezed his eyes shut for a moment to keep the tears in. Even when he opened them his hand still trembled on the lad’s head. “Well, Cousin Jaim, you tell your children about today. You tell your grandchildren, your grandchildren’s children.”

“I’m not going to have any,” Jaim said stoutly. “Girls are horrible. They laugh at you, and they don’t like to do anything worth doing, and you never understand what they’re saying.”

“I think one day you’ll find out they’re the opposite of horrible. Some of it won’t change, but that will.”  _ Faile _ .

Jaim looked doubtful, but then he brightened, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Wait till I tell Had Lord Perrin called me cousin!” And he darted away to tell Had, who would have children too, and all the other boys who would, one day. The sun stood straight overhead. An hour, maybe. It had all taken no more than an hour. It felt like a lifetime.

Stepper moved forward, and he realized he must have dug his heels in. Cheering people made way for the dun, and he hardly heard them. There were great gaps where Trollocs had broken down the stakes with sheer weight of numbers. He rode through one over a mound of dead Trollocs and never noticed. Dead Trollocs bristling with arrows carpeted the open ground, and here and there a pincushioned Fade flailed and thrashed. He saw none of it. He had eyes for only one thing.  _ Faile _ .

She started out from the Watch Hill men, pausing to stop Bain from following, and rode to meet him. She rode so gracefully, as if the black mare were part of her, slimly erect, guiding Swallow more with her knees than the reins held so casually in one hand. The red marriage ribbon still twined through her hair, the ends dangling past her shoulders. He must find her flowers.

For a moment those tilted eyes studied him, her mouth ... Surely she could not be uncertain, but she smelled it. “I said I would go,” she said finally, holding her head high. Swallow danced sideways, neck arched, and Faile mastered the mare without seeming to notice. “I did not say how far. You cannot say I did.”

He could not say anything. She was so beautiful. He just wanted to look at her, to see her, beautiful, alive, with him. Her scent was clean sweat with just the slightest hint of herbal soap. He was not sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry. Maybe both. He wanted to pull all the smell of her into his lungs.

Frowning, she went on. “They were ready, Perrin. Truly, they were. I barely had to say anything to convince them to come. The Trollocs had hardly bothered them at all, but they could see the smoke. We travelled hard, Bain and I, and reached Watch Hill well before first light, and we started back as soon as the sun rose.” Her frown became a wide smile, eager and proud. Such a beautiful smile. Her dark eyes sparkled. “They followed me, Perrin. They followed me! Even Tenobia has never led men in battle. She wanted to once, when I was eight, but Father had a talk with her alone in her chambers and when he rode off to the Blight she stayed behind.” With a rueful grin, she added, “I think you and he use the same methods sometimes. Tenobia exiled him, but she was only sixteen, and the Council of Nobles managed to change her mind after a few weeks. She will be blue with envy when I tell her.” Again she paused, this time drawing a deep breath and planting a fist on her hip. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” she demanded impatiently. “Are you just going to sit there like a hairy lump? I did not say I would leave the Theren. You said that, not I. You’ve no right to be angry because I did not do what I never promised! And you trying to send me away because you thought you were going to die! I came back to—”

“I love you.” It was all he could say, but strangely it seemed to be enough. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than she reined Swallow close enough to throw an arm around him and press her face against his chest; she seemed to be trying to squeeze him in two. He stroked her dark hair gently, just feeling the silkiness of it, just feeling her.

“I was so afraid I would be too late,” she said into his coat. “The Watch Hill men marched as fast as they could, but when we arrived, and I saw the Trollocs fighting right in among the houses, so many of them, as if the village were being buried in an avalanche, and I couldn’t see you ...” She drew a shivering breath and let it out slowly. When she spoke again, her voice was calmer. Just. “Did the men from Deven Ride come?”

He gave a start, and his hand stopped stroking. “Yes, they did. How did you know? Did you arrange that, too?” She began shaking; it took him a moment to know she was laughing.

“No, my heart, though I would have if I could. When that man came with his message—‘We are coming’—I thought—hoped—that that was what it meant.” Pulling her face back a little, she looked up at him seriously. “I could not tell you, Perrin. I could not raise your hopes when I only suspected. It would have been too cruel if ... Don’t be angry with me, Perrin.”

Laughing, he lifted her out of her saddle and set her sideways in front of his; she laughed her protests, and stretched across the high pommel to put both arms around him. “I will never, ever be angry with you, I sw—” She cut him off with a hand over his mouth.

“Mother says the worst thing Father ever did to her was vow never to be angry with her. It took her a year to force him to take it back, and she says he was hardly fit to live with long before then from holding in. You will be angry with me, Perrin, and I with you. If you want to make me another wedding vow, vow you will not hide it when you are. I cannot deal with what you will not let me see, my husband. My husband,” she repeated in a satisfied tone, snuggling against him. “I do like the sound of that.”

He noticed she did not say she would always let him know when she was angry; on past experience, he would have to discover it the hard way at least half the time. And she made no promises not to keep secrets from him again, either. Right then, it did not matter so long as she was with him. “I will let you know when I’m angry, my wife,” he promised. She gave him a slanted look, as if she was not sure how to take that.  _ You won’t ever come to understand them, Cousin Jaim, but you won’t care _ .

Abruptly he became aware of the dead Trollocs all around him, like a black field full of feathered weeds, the thrashing Myrddraal still refusing to die finally. Slowly he turned Stepper. A slaughter yard and a shambles of Shadowspawn stretching for hundreds of paces in every direction. Crows hopped across the ground already, and vultures soared overhead in a huge milling cloud. No ravens, though. And the same to the south, according to Jaim; he could see the vultures wheeling beyond the village for proof. Not enough to repay for all the dead; it would never be enough. Nothing could ever repay for them. He hugged Faile; hard enough to make her grunt, but when he tried to ease up, she put her hands on his arms, gripping just as hard to keep them where they were. She was enough.

People were streaming out of Emond’s Field, Bran limping and using his spear for a staff, Marin smiling with an arm around him, Daisy being hugged by her husband, Wit, and Gaul and Chiad hand in hand with their veils down. Loial’s ears drooped wearily, and Lan had someone else’s blood on his face, and Paet al’Seen was standing only with the help of his wife, Jina; there was blood on nearly everyone, even Uno’s armoured Shienarans, and hasty bandages. But they came out in a widening throng, Elam and Dav, Adan and Aram, Eward Cauthon and Buel Dowtry, Hu and Tad the stablemen from the Winespring Inn, Wil and Tell and the Companions riding with that banner still. This time he did not see the missing faces, only those who were still there. Old Bili Congar waving a jug that surely held ale, or better yet brandy, and Cenn Buie as gnarled as ever if bruised, and Jac al’Seen with an arm around his wife, and his son and daughters around him with their husbands. Raen and Ila, still with the babes on their backs. Daisy Congar stepped out through the stakes with Wit, who clung to her as if he never intended to let go of her again. For that matter, her stout arm was wrapped around Wit’s shoulders in much the same fashion. They made an odd picture, her the taller by a head and holding her considerably smaller husband as though she meant to protect him. Anna and her female archers strode in from the west, all of them, from the youngest to the oldest, grinning brightly. More. Boys and girls running among them, laughing.

They fanned out to either side, forming a great hollow circle with the Watch Hill men—most of whom he did not know at all—Faile and him at its centre. Everyone avoided the dying Fades, but it was as if they did not see the Shadowspawn lying everywhere, only the pair on Stepper. Silently they watched, until Perrin began to feel nervous.  _ Why doesn’t somebody say something? Why are they staring like that? _

The Whitecloaks appeared, riding slowly through the carnage in their long gleaming column of fours, Geofram Bornhald at their head. Their white cloaks were sullied with dirt and blood and many had lost their lances in the fighting, but they hadn’t taken many casualties from what Perrin could see. Sullen mutters rose, but people moved aside to let them enter the circle.

Bornhald raised a gauntleted hand, halting the column in a jingle of bridles and creak of saddles, when he faced Perrin. “It is done, Perrin of the Theren,” he said with a sad smile. “The Trollocs are done here. As we agreed, I arrest you now for the crime of murder.”

“No!” Faile twisted around to stare up at Perrin, eyes angry. “What does he mean, as you agreed?”

Her words were nearly drowned by the roar from every side. “No! No!” and “You will not take him!” and “Goldeneyes! Lord Perrin! Goldeneyes!”

Keeping his gaze on Bornhald, Perrin lifted a hand, and silence descended slowly. When all was quiet, he said, “I said I would not resist, if you aided.” Surprising, how calm his voice was; inside he was a riot of emotions. “And you did. I keep my word.” It was a grim prize, the noose. But it wasn’t what he’d been fighting for. The people gathered around them, they were what he’d been fighting for. And they would live. Perrin would welcome that prize without regret if it came with such a bounty attached.

Bornhald did not take his eyes from Perrin for an instant; he did not even blink. “That is commendable, though it does not undo the deaths of my men.” A massive Whitecloak behind him—Farran, Perrin though his name was—drew his sword, with a pleased smile. Faile shifted; without looking away from the man, Perrin laid a finger across her lips just as she opened her mouth. She bit him—hard—but she did not say anything.

The Whitecloaks froze as quivers rattled to arrows being drawn, and bows came up all around the circle, fletchings drawn to ear, every broadhead shaft pointed at a Whitecloak. Up and down the thick column, high-cantled saddles creaked as men shifted uneasily. Bornhald showed no sign of fear, and he did not smell of it, either; his scent was all resolve. He ran weary eyes over the Theren folk encircling his men, shaking his head chidingly at the naked threat they posed, and returned them to Perrin just as sadly.

Perrin motioned downward, and tension was let off bowstrings reluctantly, bows lowered slowly. “As I said, I keep my word.”

He could feel Faile’s heart racing, just as it had on their wedding night, but knew well that it raced for a different reason now.  _ I am sorry, my love _ .

“Perrin. Don’t you dare do this to me,” she said, her voice low and urgent.

Anna had a white-knuckled grip on her longbow. She didn’t like being the centre of attention, but that didn’t stop her from striding out to face the mounted Lord Captain. “Lord Bornhald. Is this really necessary?” she said gruffly. “Surely there has to be some compromise we could reach. You’ve seen how much good Perrin can do. Couldn’t he redeem himself if he kept doing things like this? It was a tragic misunderstanding that caused those deaths. Why add another tragedy on top of them?”

Perrin was more moved by that than he cared to admit. He knew she considered what he had done to be murder, just as Bornhald did, but it was nice to know she didn’t think he deserved to die for it.

Bornhald didn’t share her gentle heart though. “Miss al’Tolan. I remember you,” he said with a grandfatherly smile. “You should keep better company, my dear. Loyalty to those who do not share your principles, is loyalty misplaced, yes?”

Anna shivered. “I don’t think my loyalty is misplaced,” she said, but more weakly now. She had to know, as Perrin did, that Bornhald would not compromise. He wanted Perrin to hang, and so Perrin would either have to hang or order the Thereners to murder the entire Whitecloak legion.

“Bring your noose, Bornhald. Let’s get this over with,” Perrin said quietly. He held his wife by her slender waist, and tried to lift her down from his saddle despite the way she clutched at his coat, trying not to hear the angry objections of his people, or the satisfied words that passed down the Whitecloak column.

“Perrin, listen to me!” Faile began in a desperate hiss, as Bornhald sighed sadly and Anna scrunched up her face as though in pain.

That was when the wall of the Winespring Inn exploded.


	80. A Saying in the Borderlands

CHAPTER 77: A Saying in the Borderlands

“It’s fine. Just leave it on,” Rand told her through gritted teeth.

“It’s not fine!” Min snapped. “You’re hurt!” She dashed the back of her hand across tear-filled eyes, the sight of which hurt more than the sharp ache in his shoulder, but at least she gave over fussing with the straps on his armour.

Rand leaned his elbow upon the armrest of one of Marin’s big chairs, there in the common room of the Winespring Inn. He didn’t quite dare sit back in the seat, for the pain flared up each time he moved or let someone touch him. His sword and bow lay on the table nearby, where the two women had deposited them after retrieving them from the battlefield.

Merile came rushing back from the kitchen with a cup of water, one she held steady with both hands to prevent any from spilling. The look of intense concentration on her face might have been comical if it wasn’t so sweet. “Here, drink this,” she told him when she reached his side.

Min took the cup from her before Rand could reach for it and held it out towards his lips. “Don’t start. Just drink it,” she said firmly when he opened his mouth to complain about being treated like a baby. Reluctantly, Rand let her have her way. It was probably for the best anyway, since his arm was still refusing to obey him.

He half expected her to spill the water over him just for a laugh, but Min poured the cool liquid down his throat very carefully. There was an uncharacteristically serious look on her face.

Not so Merile’s. “How did you learn swording?” she asked, out of nowhere.

While blinking at her and trying to figure out what she was thinking, Rand almost forgot the pain and discomfort. “Swording?”

“Those things you do with the sword,” she clarified. “It looks tricky. Was it hard to learn?”

“Ah ... Lan taught me.”

Merile smiled encouragingly. “Well, you seem good at it! I bet one day you’ll be the best sworder in Valgarda.”

Between her smile and the memory of his recent and embarrassing failure, Rand couldn’t help but blush. “Thanks, Merile, that’s ... very nice of you.”

“It is,” Min sighed. “I’m not sure how it helps now though ...”

“I said something wrong again, didn’t I? Maybe I’ll just stop talking,” Merile said glumly.

“There’s no need for that,” Min said reluctantly. She forced a smile. “But could you help me treat this wound first? We’ll need alcohol to clean it, and stitches to stop the bleeding. Bandages, too.”

Merile skipped off towards the kitchen again, leaving Min to stare after her morosely. “I just can’t not like her. Dammit,” she muttered. Before Rand could ask her what was wrong, or Merile could reach the kitchen door, the front door of the inn banged open.

Alanna was dark and slender, a beautiful vulpine woman with waves of black hair and a light in her eyes that spoke of a temper. And with a slight redness around them, as if she had been crying, though Rand could hardly believe an Aes Sedai weeping. He’d kept his distance from her as best he could during their stay in Emond’s Field, despite her repeated forays towards friendliness. He could hardly keep his distance now though, not if it meant risking the loss of an arm, or bleeding to death.

“There you are,” she said as she gliding into the room. Ihvon prowled at her back, his sword already out and ready, just in case anything had broken through the line unnoticed. “Good.”

“How is the battle going?” Rand asked but she waved away his question.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about such things. We have it all under control.”

He grimaced at the familiar condescension. “I think I’ll just keep right on worrying about the fate of my friends if it’s all the same to you,” he muttered.

Alanna shook her head at that. Rand had the odd feeling she was examining the by now very familiar inn while she did so. She addressed herself to Min when she spoke. “Those supplies I heard you speak of may be useful. Go with the other girl and retrieve them.”

Min matched Rand’s grimace with one of her own at being given such orders by a relative stranger, but her sullen defiance didn’t last long against the Aes Sedai’s dark stare. As she stalked from the room alongside Merile, Alanna turned her attention back to Rand.

“Alone at last,” she said with another of those too-friendly smiles. Rand raised an eyebrow at Ihvon, standing right there at her side. But if the man thought his apparent non-existence offensive no sign of it showed on his face. “It is foolish to treat me as an enemy,” Alanna murmured, moving toward him. He leaned back from her raised hand, and she stopped. “Like you, Rand, mean no harm. Nothing I do here will cause you any injury.”

Since she had said it straight out, it must be so. He nodded, and she raised her hand to his head. His skin tingled faintly as she embraced  _ saidar _ , and a familiar warm ripple passed through him, the feel of her checking his health. The move from sudden warmth to sudden cold was as shocking as ever, when the icy wave of a Healing washed over Rand. He gritted his teeth, heart racing, as he felt the skin and muscle of his shoulder forcibly knitting itself back together.

Alanna nodded in satisfaction. And suddenly the cold was heat, one great flash of it, as if he stood for a heartbeat in the middle of a roaring furnace. Even after it passed, he felt odd, aware of himself as he never had been before, aware of Alanna. He swayed in the chair, head light, muscles watery. She was just as satisfied as she looked, he knew. He could ... feel it.

“What did you do?” he demanded. In a fury, he seized  _ saidin _ . The strength of it helped drive him upright. “What did you do!?” Weaving a shield, he slammed it into place, cutting Alanna off from the True Source before she could use  _ saidar _ against him again. Alanna grunted as if he had punched her. “What did you do?” Even deep in the cold emotionless Void as he was, his voice grated. “Tell me! I made no promises not to hurt you. If you don’t tell me—”

“Be quiet, Rand!” she said, scowling about them. “Something is here, something ... restrains me.” Ihvon’s head swivelled as he tried to identify the danger she spoke of. Neither of them realised that said danger was standing right in front of them.

His heart was hammering against his chest, and his stomach was roiling, but some small, rational part of him realised that he still had a chance to avoid what was coming. Rage crawled across the outside of the void. Calm. He must be calm. “What did you do to me?” he asked again, his composure hanging by a loose thread.

“I bonded you as one of my Warders,” Alanna said calmly. “There will be time later to teach you what that means, for now you must simply be silent while I deal with this problem.”

“How DARE you!?” Rand roared.

He felt her surprise and her outrage as easily as he might have read of it in a book, but it was with that hateful Aes Sedai calm that she faced him. “Do not get above yourself, Rand al’Thor. Recall that I am Aes Sedai, and you a Warder. Recall that I am woman, and you mere man. And do not ever raise your voice to me again.”

Her voice was as cold as ice by the time she finished, but it was the words themselves that broke the last vestige of Rand’s composure.  _ Do not get above yourself. Recall your place _ . Other Aes Sedai, in other worlds, had said similar things to some of his other selves. They’d said it to Raye while they were ... And now, this, this ... BITCH dared to stick her vile bond inside Rand’s head!?

He knew little of Warders, certainly not how to break the bond, or if it could be broken, but his rage was enough to vaporise reason. “GET YOUR DAMNED BOND OUT OF MY MIND!” he shouted. Gasps from behind him told of Min and Merile’s return, but his focus remaining exclusively on the Green sister standing before him with that archly superior look on her face.

Alanna recovered her composure fast. Shielded, she faced him calmly, arms folded, a hint of contentment about her eyes. Contentment! “I said I would not injure you, and I have done exactly the opposite of injury. I appreciate a good sulk as much as the next woman, but this is not the time, Gaidin.”

She and Ihvon were both clad in green, black of hair and dark of skin, though Ihvon’s was the darker—an earthy brown as compared to Alanna’s coppery complexion. But Rand saw none of that just then. All he saw was red, as though all his blood was being pumped from his heart directly to his eyes. He was barely aware of weaving  _ saidin _ ’s threads together, or of the roar that sounded as the Aes Sedai and her Warder—her only Warder!—were sent flying backwards through the splintering ruins of the Winespring Inn’s front door, and much of the wall that surrounded it, too.

“Do not call me that!” he shouted uselessly, stupidly, madly. “I am not your bloody Warder! I am the Dragon Reborn!”

“Oh shit,” Min whispered, as Rand stalked furiously across the remains of the inn’s wall in pursuit of the woman who had bonded him.

“Huh. I didn’t know that,” Merile said conversationally.

The sounds of battle had dimmed while Rand was indoors, though Emond’s Field was far from silent. He heard hundreds of voices raised in cheers and recriminations, no one of which’s words could he separate from the general din. Not that he was trying very hard to.

Ihvon rolled to his feet, splinters falling from his coat. His sword was still in his hands, and he brandished it at Rand threateningly. “No farther!” he called bravely, though the whites of his eyes showed all around.

Alanna hadn’t been badly hurt by the blast that had thrown her backwards. Some part of Rand was relieved to see, and even to feel, that. Some other part of him was disgusted with himself for feeling relief. She climbed to her feet, her eyes fixed on Rand as he advanced towards her, uncaring of Ihvon’s threat. “You can channel!” she gasped. He felt her shock, horror and disgust at that realisation.

“The bond,” Rand said grimly. “Get it out of me.”

Ihvon went for him, moving fast. It was a futile gesture. A hammer of Air knocked him back off his feet. A coil of Fire made his sword glow orange when he refused, once again, to let it drop from his hand. A wave of Earth caused the ground beneath his feet to grow soft when, even unarmed, hissing in pain and with smoke drifting up from the burnt flesh of his palm, he insisted on trying to stop Rand’s advance; Rand let the earth grow firm again only when Ihvon was standing in it up to his neck. Trapped by a rocky prison that fit him as snugly as a newly cut coat, Ihvon could do nothing but roll his eyes to watch as Rand stepped over his head and stalked towards Alanna.

“I can see you safely to Tar Valon as soon as this matter is concluded. You will be taken care of there,” Alanna said reassuringly.

Despite everything, Rand laughed scornfully. He would be taken care of in Tar Valon? How stupid did she think him? Stupid enough to trust a strange Aes Sedai to use the One Power on him, was the unwelcome answer. Alanna’s eyes could have done for that furnace he had felt. She didn’t like being laughed at, that would have been plain even without the bond. He felt no regret from her over what she had done to him though, to his great fury.  _ No regret yet, that is _ .

“The bond,” he reminded her as he drew within arm’s length.

She shook her head. “You are my Warder now. And you should be grateful for that. It may help you survive what must come. Sometimes it has been known to help a Warder survive the trauma of having his Aes Sedai die, though only sometimes. Perhaps it can do the same for someone with ... your condition.”

If she would not or could not break it her way, then he would break it his. Heart pounding, his vision still obscured by that red mist, Rand snapped his hand around Alanna’s slim neck, made a fist, and lifted her into the air.

He heard gasps, and more than two, but he was too far-gone to care. Alanna’s feet dangled two feet above the ground, kicking uselessly while she tried to support her weight with her grasp on his forearm. Her eyes bulged, and no amount of Aes Sedai composure could stop her dusky cheeks from darkening yet further, or her pink tongue from protruding from her mouth as she strangled in his grip.

“If ... you kill ... me ... you’ll die ... too,” she managed to whisper.

“I’m not a Warder. I don’t belong to you. You get this bond out of me right now,” Rand said. He blinked back sudden tears, hating how weak he suddenly sounded. He felt like a little boy. It reminded him of back when ... when ...

“Bond?” a familiar voice said. Rand looked aside and found his father staring at him. He could only meet the man’s eyes for a moment before shame coloured his cheeks and lowered his head _. What am I doing? She’s a woman. I can’t hurt a woman, not even one who did what she did. It’s not how Tam taught me a man should behave _ .

“Alanna attacked Rand,” he heard Min say. “She said she was going to Heal him, but then she did ... something else.” The arm that had held the slim Aes Sedai aloft so easily trembled at the sound of Min’s voice. Why didn’t she hate him? How was it possible that there was a woman so full of heart that she would support him even against the Aes Sedai?

“Enemy,” Raine said shortly, drawing Rand’s gaze back up. Her knives were in her hands and she looked ready to use them, but it was Alanna, not him, that she was glaring at.

Tam had not come alone to investigate the scene Rand had made. Most of those who crowded around him were people Rand knew, Thereners and Shienarans and Aiel. But some were strangers, too, folk in familiar garb but with unfamiliar faces. A sternly beautiful woman with a long, brown braid seemed to lead them. She was older than he was, but far from old, and the busty young woman at her side bore enough resemblance to her that she must surely be her daughter. Deven Ride folk, Rand had to guess, come to join the fight against the Shadow ... or against any other dark creatures they might find lurking in their midst ... Whether familiar or unfamiliar, they all stared at the tableau with alarm written on their faces.

“Infidel! The White Tower has abandoned the Light!” Masema hissed at Alanna, his dark, deep-set eyes burning with righteous hate.  _ And how do my own look at the moment? _

Blinking, Rand let the Aes Sedai fall from his grasp to land on her bottom in the dirt, gasping for breath. He was aware of her pain, humiliation and relief through the unwelcome bond that remained between them.

“What ... What did you do, Rand?” Jaim Torfinn asked, a frown knotting his brows. He’d been a friend once, if a combative one; he’d known about what passed between Rand and his aunt Ellie, and disliked it. What was he now?

Tod Aydaer, the lover who hadn’t loved him at all, was staring at Alanna as she sat in the dirt trying to recover herself. His dark eyes rose from her to Rand, and went very wide. He was far from stupid. He knew that there was only one type of man who could do such a thing to an Aes Sedai. Rand shook his head, pleading with his eyes. But he pled in vain. “Y-you’re a c-channeler!” Tod gasped.

“Uh oh,” a pale-faced Merile said quietly.

Some of the girls who’d been gathered on the Green had come over to see what was going on, and a few of them tittered nervously at the sight of Ihvon straining against his earthen prison. To Rand’s horror, Emi was among them, held aloft between Nancy al’Donel and Anna’s young cousin, Kenly. She certainly wasn’t laughing. The two children stared at Rand, but neither stared half so hard as Emi.

There were strung bows in the hands of the Deven Ride folk, and some were raising them already, while looking to the stern woman he’d noticed before as though for orders. The Aiel were veiled, every last man and woman of them. They always veiled their faces before they killed. At Geko’s quiet order, the Shienaran armsmen moved to surround Rand.

In his mind’s eye, he could see how it would all play out; the first shot, the nervous bow that loosed chaos on the world, the stabbing spears that lashed out in response, the swinging swords, the falling bodies. Blood flooding out to stain his homeland, and all of it the blood of friends. “I won’t let that happen,” he told himself breathlessly, as though words alone could make it true.

Larine Ayellin had grown close to Rikimaru since the death of Han. Rand suspected they were sleeping together, but had, of course, kept his nose out of their business. She’d gone to Rikimaru as soon as she stepped off the Green though, and now she was staring at him as though she didn’t know him.

“Didn’t you hear what that fellow said?” she asked, pointing accusingly at Geko.

“This is a time for silence and for calm, Larine,” Rikimaru counselled sagely, but Larine had never been one for calm, or for silence.

“He says you’re the Dragon Reborn, Rand,” she spluttered. Rikimaru grimaced. The rest of the crowd apparently had not heard Geko’s words; they gasped.

“I am,” Rand said wearily.

Larine sniffed and folded her arms beneath her breasts. “As soon as I saw that coat I knew you had gotten a big head, running off with an Aes Sedai the way you did. I knew it before you talked so disrespectfully to Moiraine Sedai and Alanna Sedai and Maigan Sedai. But I didn’t know you had become a stone blind jack-fool.”

_ Saidin _ still filled him, as it must in order for him to maintain the shield on Alanna. Gently he wrapped Larine in flows of Air and lifted her until her shoes dangled a foot above the floor. “I am the Dragon Reborn. Denying won’t change it. Wishing won’t change it. I’m not the man you once knew. Do you understand now? Do you?” He realized he was shouting and clamped his mouth shut. His stomach was lead, and he was trembling. Why had Alanna done what she did? What Aes Sedai scheme was hatching behind that pretty face?

A hand touched his arm, and his head jerked around.

“Please let her down,” Alanna said. “Please. She is frightened.”

She was more than frightened. Larine’s face seemed drained of blood, and her mouth gaped as wide as it would go, as if she wanted to scream and had forgotten how. She was not the only one. The Theren children were already off and running, intent on getting as far from him as they could get, and most of them were crying, too. Little Missi Aydaer clutched her infant sister in her arms as she ran from Rand’s presence in terror. Nancy and Kenly had abandoned Emi on the ground as they fled, though oddly enough, Emi’s was one of the only Theren faces that looked at Rand without fear now.

The other, of course, was Tam himself. “Calm, Elinor, calm. There are things at play here you haven’t been made aware of. Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” he said to the stern stranger who, Rand noticed now, wore a Mayor’s badge of office.

Rand eased the girl back down, but maintained his hold on  _ saidin _ . “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” As soon as she could move, Larine fled towards the Deven Ride folk, all of whom had their bows raised now, their broadhead arrows pointed at Rand and the armoured soldiers who surrounded him. Raine and the Aiel had disappeared, but Rand doubted they had left. It was more likely that they were waiting for their moment to strike. The thought did not comfort him, for there would be no possibility of victory if a fight broke out here. Even if he and those who fought for him lived to see another day, they would have lost. He looked to Min and Merile, standing in the broken entrance of the Winespring Inn with Rand’s discarded weapons clutched nervously in their arms, and tried to urge them to flee with his gaze alone. They either didn’t get the message, or refused to heed it. “Larine? I’m sorry. I won’t hurt you, I promise.” She said nothing. She wouldn’t even look at him.

Of the youngsters who had come, only Saeri and Luci remained now. They looked as frightened of the precipice they stood on as Rand himself was, but fear wasn’t enough to keep Saeri quiet, not any more. She faced the crowd of Thereners, and planted her fists on her narrow hips sternly. “The Lord Dragon is an instrument of destiny, and the doom of his Age rests upon him,” she proclaimed unhelpfully. “Do not be afraid. The Creator has sent him to do Her will. Trust in the Creator and in him. He will treat you well.”

The Theren men muttered at the sight of that strange little girl trying to face them down. They didn’t lower their bows, but several adjusted their aim to make sure they weren’t risking hitting her.

“The Lord Dragon?” a woman’s voice scoffed in the accents of Andor. “You dare invoke that wretched man’s name, child?”

Rand grimaced as he watched things go from bad to worse. The commotion had drawn folk in from the north, the east and the west. Perrin sat his horse with Zarine in his lap. She looked relieved to Rand’s eyes, perhaps gladdened by the idea of his imminent death. Bornhald was at Perrin’s side, his worn, grandfatherly face looking even more lined than usual. He jerked upright in his saddle at Maigan’s words, and his eyes fastened on Rand censoriously.

A sizable crowd had followed Perrin towards the inn, Loial and Gaul, Marin and Bode, Anna and Sara and so many others among it. Moiraine was among them, too, and her glare was almost as cold as Maigan’s. She heeled Aldieb out of the crowd with Lan at her side, sitting in Mandarb’s saddle with his blade out and ready. Rand had the feeling Moiraine desperately wanted to remind him that she’d tried to prevent him from ever coming back to the Theren, but if that lecture was truly prominent in her thoughts, she set it aside for now in favour of a more pressing concern.

“This matter is already being dealt with,” she said, looking back and forth between Maigan and Alanna. She spared only a brief glance for Ihvon, enough to be sure Rand hadn’t actually beheaded him, as it might, to a casual look, have seemed. “I claim jurisdiction over it, and will brook no interference.” She ran her commanding gaze over the gathering crowds. “From anyone.”

“You knew what he was?” Alanna said sharply. She spoke right over Moiraine’s response. “Well the custom against interference won’t protect you here, Moiraine. He is my Warder now, and those laws trump custom.”

Moiraine was ice. Always. But just then she was ice that reflected the fire’s burning light. “Warder? Rand? You expect me to believe he agreed to that?” Her tone made quite plain that she did not, and given how long they had known each other, and all the arguments they had had, that was hardly surprising.

Alanna’s dark cheeks darkened further. “Tell her you agreed to be my Warder, Rand,” she commanded. Bizarrely, she both sounded and felt as if she actually thought he would say such a thing.

“Burn you, I did nothing of the sort!” he growled. Alanna blinked at him in surprise.

“This hardly matters,” Maigan put in. “I’ve always thought that custom was unfairly maligned anyway. What matters is what he is and what he claims to be.” Something beat at the flow between him and the True Source as she spoke. She was trying to shield him. “He is strong. Moiraine, help me.”

“Stronger than you know, Aes Sedai,” Rand said grimly. He wove a second shield, and slammed it into place around Maigan. There was a feeling of resistance but not enough of one to prevent him from cutting her off from  _ saidar _ . Her blue eyes widened and her pale face got even paler.

“You dare!? You—You’re just a man.”

Masema rounded on her. “He is the Lord Dragon Reborn! The Creator’s Champion! You will speak to him with respect, Aes Sedai!” There was spittle on his lips by the time he was done speaking. Maigan looked at him so incredulously that you’d think he was a mouse that had offered to wrestle her.

“Blood and ashes!” Uno cursed. At his signal, the remaining members of Rand’s guards ran from among the group that had followed Perrin, unlimbering their shields as they placed themselves between Rand and the surrounding mob.

“Rand,” Bode exclaimed, “this man is saying awful things about you. Make him stop.”

“It’s the truth, Bode,” Rand said sadly. “I am the Dragon Reborn.”

Bode’s laugh was more appalled than amused. “You shouldn’t say such a thing even as a joke, Rand. Tam raised you better than that. You’re Rand al’Thor. Now stop this foolishness.”

Bornhald pulled on the reins of his horse, turning the beast smartly before digging his heels into its ribs. He galloped off in the direction of the mounted Whitecloaks in the distance, the few guards he’d brought with him riding hard behind him.

Rand had no time to spare for him. He was too busy trying to think of a way to stop his friends and lovers from trying to kill him.

Dav and Elam looked like they wanted to run, Jaim and Leof as if they wanted to fight. Ellie tried to lose herself in the crowd, while Sascya stepped out of it, gaping at Rand as though she’d never seen him before. Jeri was looking at him in much the same way, and clutching her little brother’s hand. Her mother Hanna, who’d always been nice to Rand, was calling her name in a hoarse whisper, one that shouted for her to run before the beast in their midst noticed her presence. Sara darted over to Emi’s side and tried to lift her while darting wary looks Rand’s way, but Emi resisted, still watching him wide-eyed.

Doral Thane, red-eyed from weeping, gathered up Nela and Jaim and herded them away from Rand as fast as she could, while she herself ran at their heels. There was no sign of her other daughter.

Natti Cauthon tried to do the same with her daughters, but Bode resisted. “T-that can’t be true. It’s just Rand,” she said.

“It’s true,” said Perrin grimly.

Natti glared hate and fear at Rand as she dragged Bode away. “Come with me! Quickly, girl!” Bode let herself be dragged off this time. There were no smiles from her now and certainly no kisses. She was sobbing so hard she quivered. Stricken, Rand watched her go.

“I always knew there was someone wrong about him!” Calle Coplin said triumphantly. Her aunt Daisy nodded grimly but her father Bili took it a step further.

“Monster!” he shouted, pointing a gnarled finger at Rand. “What are you all waiting for!? Shoot him before he kills us all!”

“You’ll do no such bloody thing!” Anna shouted. She gestured forcefully for the female archers she’d gathered to lower their bows. Those who had raised them heeded Anna’s command. Rand was relieved to see that Loise and Imoen had been among those who hadn’t raised them in the first place. “He  _ is _ the Dragon Reborn! The real one. I saw it myself!” Anna finished. Rand was grateful for her and Perrin’s support. It let a seed of hope grow within him that he might get out of this mess without any more bloodshed.

“That can’t be, not my sweet boy,” Marin breathed. Guilt stabbed at Rand as he wondered how he could repair the damage he’d caused to her inn, but Marin didn’t seemed troubled by that just yet. It was Rand that concerned her, her and the three daughters that clustered behind her, each with their hands clasped protectively across their bellies.

“I thought it was the Aes Sedai who brought the Trollocs down on us, but it was you all along, wasn’t it al’Thor!” Eward Cauthon shouted. The stout man pushed his slim wife behind him as though he thought Rand would try to strike them both down.

“For the Light’s sake, da!” Imoen groaned. She looked embarrassed. “Why do you have to be like that? Rand’s been fighting to protect us all from the Trollocs. And the Whitecloaks, remember?”

“He never struck me as the type to want to be a false Dragon,” Cenn Buie confided to those around him. “It just goes to show how little you can know someone.” He rounded on Tam, his beady brown eyes accusing. “And you al’Thor! What kind of son have you been raising?”

Anger at seeing Tam confronted so gave Rand the strength to speak over the crowd’s clamour. “I never wanted this! I never wanted any of it. Why would I? Don’t you know what being the Dragon Reborn means? It means I’m going to go mad and rot alive and kill my friends. It means I have to let myself do those things, because it’s my job to stop the Dark One from destroying us all. Why would anyone ever want that!? I was going to kill myself after I found out I could channel. It seemed the best way to make sure I didn’t end up hurting anyone. I still planned to do it even after the Amyrlin Seat told me I was the Dragon Reborn.” Moiraine hissed at that, and even the famed Aes Sedai self-control couldn’t stop Alanna and Maigan from looking shocked to learn of the Amyrlin’s involvement, but Rand didn’t care about White Tower politics, only about trying to prevent a fight from breaking out here in Emond’s Field. “I called her a liar to her face and told her to just go ahead and Gentle me, but she didn’t. But then ... Then the Horn of Valere was sounded, and the immortal Heroes came back from the grave to fight the Seanchan. They spoke to me as though they knew me, even though they were all strangers, and they called me Lews Therin. They told me I was the Dragon Reborn. Should I have called them liars, too!? I couldn’t, much as I wanted to. I wish this wasn’t true. I wish I wasn’t what I am. But wishes don’t accomplish anything. Death is lighter than a feather, duty heavier than a mountain. And this duty is mine.”

“You’ll kill us all!” Matti Ahan gasped. Her daughter huddled behind her and her husband stood protectively in front of them both.

Her nephew Tief let his shoulders slump. “Light, Rand ...” he sighed.

Rand wished he could tell them that would never happen, but from what he’d heard, the Prophecies promised a grim future. “I don’t want to. I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he said sadly. “But I have to stop the Dark One, whatever the cost. The only alternative is to just lie down and die.”

“Never say that!” a surprising voice demanded. “If you say that, you’ll have already lost. Keep moving! If you’re alive, you can keep moving, dammit!” Rand stared down at Emi, she who’d told him she wanted nothing more to do with him, while calling him every name under the sun. Her dark eyes shone with determination. It almost seemed as though she was trying to force that determination into him. If only things had been different. In another world, he was sure he would have loved her ...

“If he really is the Dragon Reborn, then doesn’t that mean we need him?” Tod Aydaer said slowly. “I don’t know the prophecies, but I remember someone saying that he had to fight at Tarmon Gai’don or the Light would lose.”

“That’s what they say, yes,” Tam confirmed with a nod. “If everyone would just calm down please. We can call a council and discuss this matter.”

“You should do that,” Perrin agreed. “Faile can help organise it. I’ll ... be elsewhere.”

Before Rand could ask him what he meant by that, the thunder of hundreds of hooves driving into hard-packed earth drowned out everyone’s voices. He stepped out of the Shienarans’ protective circle in time to see the Whitecloak legion streaming down the Old Road with their lances lowered to charge.

* * *

Geofram’s doubts had vanished the moment he heard the al’Thor boy proclaim himself a false Dragon. It was a pity really; he had seemed a decent lad. But then, the Shadow’s minions often hid behind fair facades, and with an Aes Sedai witch claiming dominion over the boy he may well have had little choice but to serve the Tower’s schemes. Whatever the truth of al’Thor’s fall into darkness, one fact shone brighter than all others: the Children must prevent his evil from spreading beyond the Theren, for the sake of all Valgarda, and for the Light itself.

He rode behind the vanguard of his legion, sword in hand, his white cloak streaming behind him. His old bones, that had creaked and twinged so often in recent years, moved smoothly for once; he felt almost young again, and found himself recalling other charges, against other foes. A small, sad smile, creased his lips.

Someone rushed out of the crowd ahead, a tall young man in makeshift armour, red-haired and pale-eyed, shouting words Geofram could not hear. Al’Thor. That was a relief. He hadn’t relished the idea of having to cut his way through the Thereners in order to get to the false Dragon. If they could strike down al’Thor first, then the others, the dupes and the confused, might yet be spared.

“Al’Thor is your target!” he shouted. “The Light’s blessings on any man who cuts him down!”

His Children shouted a wordless battlecry as they thundered down on the lone man standing in the road before them. Geofram prayed there would not be too many casualties, but facing any channeler in battle carried with it a great risk. His men knew that as surely as he did, but they rode on fearlessly. He was fiercely proud of them in that moment.

Abruptly the ground ahead flew up with a roar, showering him with dirt and pebbles. From his right he heard another roar, and men and horses screamed, then from his left, and again. Again. Thunder and screams, hidden by the raining dirt.

“The legion will charge!” His horse leaped forward as he dug in his heels, and he heard the roar as the legion, as much of it as still lived, followed.

Thunder and screams, wrapped in blindness.

His last thought was relief. Byar would be able to tell his son Dain how he had died. And warn the Lord Captain Commander of the danger the Theren held.

* * *

“Stop!” Rand shouted again. “Please stop!” But Bornhald’s men would not listen. “Don’t make me do this,” he finished in a whisper, his heart pounding against his chest.

The Whitecloak cavalry thundered on, their lances aimed at Rand’s chest. It would be a swift death. All he’d have to do was stand there and let it happen. But he had a job to do, and could not afford to die until he’d finished it.

“Light forgive me,” Rand groaned as  _ saidin _ surged through him. He stretched out his hands and gripped the earth in invisible fists. It was not the muscles of his body that he flexed, but even so there was a flexing sensation as he tore the ground asunder, raising twin cliffs on either side of the Whitecloak legion, dragging those cliffs inwards, bunching his victims close together. Horse and man alike staggered and fell as the earth around and beneath them shifted. “Light burn me to ash,” he whispered. But it wasn’t him that burned that day. Fire roared from Rand’s upraised hands, a fountain of it, an outpouring fit to rival Eldrene’s Veil. It shot forth to wash over the Whitecloak legion. Men screamed as their flesh crispened, horses screamed as their hides blackened, even the metal screamed as it melted and twisted in that inferno. For a hundred feet, back through that impromptu stone ravine, the fire roared, leaving only death and horror in its wake. When he let the fire end, not one single Child of the Light remained alive. Smoke sizzled upwards from the men and horses that Rand had cooked in the oven he had made of his home.

By the time Rand let his hands fall back to his sides, silenced reigned in Emond’s Field.

It was broken by the creak and thuds of nearby houses falling, their foundations disturbed by Rand’s channelling. Part of him thought he should apologise to those whose homes he had ruined. The greater part of him knew that there could never be forgiveness for what he had done.

He became aware of curses and prayers being uttered behind him. He heard someone sicking up, and another following suit. A third. More. He didn’t look back, couldn’t look back, for the sight of the twisted and smoking ruins of Geofram Bornhald and his men held his gaze fast. He’d liked Bornhald. He’d seemed a decent man, all told. And now he had butchered him. Rand couldn’t stop trembling.

“You monster!” he heard the Tinker woman Ila say, despite her husband’s efforts to shush her.

“”Have to fight enemies, Ila,” Raine objected.

“They would have killed him. He had to stop them,” Min said, though her voice shook.

Through the bond she had inflicted on him, Rand could feel Alanna’s shock, her fear, and also ... her pride? He turned to frown at her incredulously and found the Green sister staring at him open-mouthed.

She wasn’t the only one staring, but most of those looked properly horrified at what he had done. More and more people fled from him, men and women and boys and girls that he’d known all his life, fleeing as though from the Dark One himself. Even Marin and Bran were shooing their daughters away, they who had once been content to marry him off to one of them. Loial’s ears drooped so low they almost touched his shoulders. Luci hid her face behind Heita’s back. Cenn’s nearly toothless mouth worked soundlessly, and Emi, up in Sara’s arms now, paled when his eyes met hers. She looked away, just as he did.

If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have seen the arrow coming.

Even so, he had only the briefest of moments to move, but his sideways flinch was enough to make it graze his temple rather than impale his head. Pain shot through Rand’s skull, pain that was amplified when he saw who had loosed the arrow. He’d always thought of Tief as a friend. They might not have been as close as Rand would have liked, but they still got along well, when they could find the time to socialise.

Tief had his jaw set stubbornly now, and a tight look to his face. “I can’t let you hurt Mishelle. She’s all I have left,” he said as he nocked another arrow. Rand had no intention of ever hurting Tief’s little sister, but what did intentions matter when you were a male channeler?

Rand had seen enough tragedy in his young life. He saw the blow coming this time and reached out to stop it before it landed. Tief grimaced when he saw Rand raise his hand to him, as he’d seen him raise it to Bornhald, but he didn’t shy away. He aimed and loosed, but the arrow clattered against Moiraine’s invisible shield of Air even before it could reach Rand’s similar one. The trio of Aiel arrows failed to reach their target as well, when they clattered against the shield that Rand had woven around Tief. The young man gaped in surprise, looking around him for the shooters.

Others nocked and loosed, ignoring the orders to cease fire that Perrin and Anna barked. Armoured Shienarans drew their weapons, veiled Aiel popped out of cover with their bows in hand. None of the arrows flying back and forth pierced Moiraine and Rand’s defences, but soon, soon ...

“Stop shooting, burn you all!” he roared as blood sleeted down the side of his face.

“Get away from here!” Joanne al’Meara screeched. She was one of those whose arrows tried and failed to find Rand’s flesh. “You aren’t wanted!” He didn’t know her well at all, but she bore enough of a resemblance to Nynaeve for the words to sting.

Other arrows struck Rand’s shield, fired by Coplins and Congars, al’Donels and al’Seens, Barrans and Torfinns and Deven Ride folk for which he had no names. They didn’t get through, but the Aiel counterattacks might prove much more deadly.

“No-one is to be hurt! Uno! Urien! Tell your people to put their weapons away!” Rand shouted.

“Go back to the Blight where you belong!” Darl Coplin snarled, his eyes wide with fear and hate. “Or the Waste! Wherever your kind comes from. Just get out of Emond’s Field!”

“Just go, Rand!” Perrin called from the back of his horse. Zarine was still cradled before him, but Rand dared to think that there wasn’t the hatred in his voice that he’d heard in the others’.

The road to the south was full of dead people and dead horses, but other than a few remaining houses, there was nothing but open fields to the east. That was the way he went, walking backwards with his hands outstretched, maintaining the shield around himself as arrows rained down upon him, driving him out of the place he had once called home.


	81. The Dust Settles

CHAPTER 78: The Dust Settles

Even after Rand departed, Emond’s Field roiled like a kicked anthill. The Aiel left as he had, running backwards and keeping a careful eye on the Theren archers. Uno’s Shienarans lingered only long enough to mount their horses and leave orders for Min and the others to gather the supplies before riding off in pursuit of their lord.

Moiraine watched it all while hiding her vexation behind a well-practiced mask. She’d known it was a bad idea to come back here. They were weakened now, having lost Hurin and all his valuable skills, not to mention several strong fighters, and possibly Perrin and Anna. She knew she would have difficulty persuading those two to leave home again now that they were back, but intended to find some way to pry them out of this village before she left. Perrin especially was much too important to lose.

He was with his people now, trying to bring order to the chaos Rand had left behind, with mixed success. He’d quashed the foolish notion of chasing after Rand to make sure he left easily enough, but getting some of the more high-strung villagers to calm themselves was proving more troublesome.

“We can’t hide here,” Larine managed around sniffles and hiccoughs. “We have to go! Now! He’ll kill us!”

Casey Garren, who had lost both a father and a brother to this conflict, was crying shrilly for someone to make Rand stop, and never mind that he had left some time ago. While Bodewhin was just as shrill in wanting her brother found and rescued.

“You are not safe here,” Lan pointed out needlessly. “You are too closely tied to al’Thor in these people’s eyes. The Ogier and the rest of his people should leave as well.”

Moiraine did not really think the Thereners would turn their weapons against her. The custom of obedience to the matriarchy was too deeply ingrained here for that. But part of her still drew comfort from Lan’s ever-watchful presence. Overconfidence had been the downfall of many a woman. Or man. Some more literally than others.

Maigan was not helping Alanna to dig her Warder ... her other Warder now, out of the dirt, but the way she hovered at the Green’s side spoke of solidarity. Moiraine could not truly be surprised, for she was somewhat of a stranger in the White Tower, her time since gaining the shawl having been devoted completely to the search for the Dragon Reborn. It would have naive to trust to the bond of a shared Ajah, especially in such delicate times as these.

The shields Rand had used against the other women—cutting off both of them at once and keeping them restrained. Remarkable, especially considering how little strain doing so had seemed to place him under—those shields had dissipated now. To Moiraine’s eyes alone, Maigan and Alanna shone with the telltale halo that meant they had embraced  _ saidar _ and were holding it tight.

Alanna used the One Power to clear a space in the ground and hauled Ihvon up to freedom. He was caked in dirt and visibly embarrassed at his predicament, but Alanna herself looked too distracted to pay his discomfort much heed. As Ihvon did what he could to dust himself off, he kept a very cautious eye on Alanna. He was more than solicitous of her since Owein, her other Warder, had died to a Whitecloak arrow, not long after they arrived in the Theren—and wisely more than wary of her temper, though she usually managed to control it better than she had today. Alanna herself showed no interest in helping clean up the mess she had made. She stood in the middle of the street looking at nothing, arms folded. To anyone not Aes Sedai she probably seemed serenity incarnate. To Moiraine, Alanna was a woman ready to explode.

She went to her and touched her arm. “We must talk.” Alanna looked at her, eyes unreadable, then without a word glided toward the nearest intact house. Maigan came with them without waiting for Moiraine’s invitation. Like Alanna, she left her Warder behind, so Moiraine did the same, leaving Lan to take up a sentry’s position as she closed the door, sealing her and the other Aes Sedai in.

Alanna was already stalking back and forth in the small room, the silk of her divided skirts whispering like swords sliding from scabbards. There was no face of serenity now. “The gall of the man. The utter gall! Putting his hands on me! Threatening me!”

Alanna’s emotions had been raw since Owein’s death, and she had held them in far too long. The occasional bouts of weeping she had allowed herself were not enough of a release. Moiraine told herself that in hopes it would stifle the urge to throttle the woman herself. It almost did.

“What were you thinking, bonding him like that?”

The question should not have caught Alanna by surprise, yet it did. She hesitated, then sat in one of Mistress al’Caar’s chairs, arranging her skirts before she answered. “It was the logical thing to do, with him right there in front of me. It should have been done long ago. You could not—or would not.” Like most Greens, she was somewhat amused by other Ajahs’ insistence that each sister have only one Warder. What Greens thought of the Reds having none was better left unsaid. “They all should have been bonded at the first chance. They are too important to run loose, him most of all.” Colour blossomed suddenly in her cheeks; it would be a good while yet before she had full control of her emotions again.

Moiraine knew what caused the blushes; Alanna had let her tongue run away with her. It was another sign of the frayed state of her nerves, the same frayed state that had led to what she did with Rand. Not only bonding him, but doing so without his permission. That had not been done in hundreds of years, not since a lengthy debate in the Hall of the Tower had concluded that the act was too close to rape to be considered ethical.

Not everyone in the Tower had agreed with the Hall’s conclusion back then, and not everyone in the Tower today agreed with it either. Maigan was one such, plainly. “If he had not been so uppity it would not have been necessary, Moiraine. Don’t let the details distract you from our greater goals. A few broken customs cannot count for much against what we saw here.”

_ Perhaps _ , Moiraine thought dryly,  _ I have broken a few customs in my time after all _ . It was customary not to interfere between another sister and her Warder, for example. It was also customary not to reveal to the uninitiated that the Warder bond could be released by the Aes Sedai that made it, or that it could be used to ensure the complete obedience of the Warder. Shielding another sister, binding her hands and legs, and then having her beaten until she released a Warder bond would certainly violate a great many of the Tower’s customs. How many of those customs Moiraine obeyed would depend greatly on what Alanna said next.

“Logical, Alanna? You sound like a White,” she said, her voice chiming coolly. “Well. Now that you have him, what are you going to do with him? Considering the lessons he taught you. I am reminded of a fireside tale I once heard, about a woman who put saddle and bridle on a lion. She found it a fine and wonderful ride, but then discovered she could never dismount and never sleep.”

Shivering, Alanna rubbed her arms. “I still cannot believe he is so strong. If only we had linked. And I tried ... I failed ... He is so strong!”

“How many would it take to shield and hold him? The full thirteen?” asked Maigan. That was only tradition, but it might be necessary with him. It was speculation for another day though. For Moiraine, as for Maigan. She turned her sharp blue eyes Moiraine’s way. “Assuming the Amyrlin would allow it, of course. Was there any truth to the boy’s outlandish tale, Moiraine? I can scarcely countenance it, but Siuan has always been a rogue ...”

“You forget yourself, Maigan,” Moiraine said, in a voice that was even colder than usual. “The  _ Amyrlin Seat _ does not need to explain herself to you or I. And the  _ Amyrlin Seat _ is not to be spoken of so disrespectfully.”

Maigan sniffed in response to the rebuke, folding her arms beneath her breasts and turning her face away. But she did not try to contradict Moiraine’s words.

Turning her attention back to Alanna, Moiraine came to the crux of her worries. “Why did you not force his obedience? He might well have strangled you to death out there.”

Alanna slumped in the chair, rubbing at the bruises Rand had left on her neck. “I tried. It did nothing. He didn’t even seem to notice I was doing it. Perhaps it is because he is a channeler. I don’t understand.”

Moiraine refused to let her relief show. If Alanna couldn’t use the bond to control Rand, then the danger she posed was minimal. She might still need to take drastic steps to ensure the woman caused no difficulties to her cause, but for now she would watch and see.

Taking the chair opposite Alanna, she crossed her legs and invited Maigan to join them. There was a great deal they needed to discuss, starting with how they were to make use of the so very fragile leash Alanna had placed on Rand.

* * *

Guilt nagged at Perrin over how relieved he felt, both at Bornhald’s death and at Rand’s departure. He knew it was unfair to want Rand gone from Emond’s Field, even after his disgracefully violent treatment of Alanna. He knew, too, that Bornhald, despite his differences with Perrin, hadn’t deserved to burn like that. But it was undeniable that the town felt a more peaceful and safe place with both of them gone. At least, it did if you avoided looking at the piles of human and Trolloc corpses to the south and the north, which was what Perrin was trying to do. It was nice not to have to march himself off to the gallows as well.

Bodewhin’s cheeks still glistened damply, but her face had taken on a determined cast. “But where is he exactly? We have to find Mat. We can’t leave him with ... with a man who can ... We can’t! Even if it is Rand, we just can’t!”

“It’ll be okay, Bode. Mat took to avoiding Rand as soon as he learned he could channel. I can’t see that changing any time soon,” Perrin said reassuringly. He would have gotten down from his horse to speak to her, for politeness sake, but Faile had planted herself in his lap and was refusing to move. She certainly wasn’t sad to see the back of the Dragon Reborn or the Lord Captain.

Not everyone was as relieved of course. Tam scowled openly at his neighbours, none of whom seemed able to meet his eye, while Loial sighed over and over again, his chest acting like a great bellows. Anna stalked about looking as though she wanted to hit someone. He wondered if she’d complain to Rand as often over the hundreds of Whitecloaks he’d killed today as she had to Perrin over the handful he’d killed back in that  _ stedding _ .

“My goodness, that was exciting!” Merile said cheerfully.

Anna stopped her stalking long enough to stare at the Tinker for a moment and shake her head incredulously. Min took it a step further; she went over to her and took the bow Merile had been holding, Rand’s bow, from her hands and added it to the sword that Min already had slung over her shoulder.

Merile blinked confusedly. “Did I say something wrong again?”

She had, and they all knew it, even Min. But after a moment’s hesitation, the other woman sighed and put on a smile. “No, Merile. It’s fine. It’s just that ... people have a lot to be trying to ... cope with right now.”

Wil al’Seen wasn’t as kind as Min. “You’re as crazy as Rand, girl,” he told Merile. “No wonder you two liked each other so much.” His cousin Ban, standing by his side, nodded agreement. And he wasn’t the only one.

Min rounded on them all in a fury, her usual friendly demeanour nowhere to be seen. “You’re all a bunch of bloody ingrates is what you are! How many Trollocs and Myrddraal do you think Rand and the people who came with him killed here? How many of you would those Shadowspawn have gone on to kill if Rand hadn’t come back to help you? Burn me! Even while you were trying to kill him he was giving orders for his soldiers not to hurt any of you. Do you think it was a miracle that those arrows didn’t hit Tief!?” She pointed a finger accusingly at the man in question, who grimaced in embarrassment. “It wasn’t! Rand stopped them with the One Power, even while he was bleeding from the wound Tief gave him!” Without waiting for a response, she stalked off towards the Winespring Inn, her back as straight as a steel rod.

“I think it’s safe to say that Rand’s diddling her, too,” Wil joked to his cousin. He spoke under his breath, and Perrin doubted anyone but he and Ban had heard, but he still had to fight the urge to get down and go thump the man.

A welcome distraction presented itself in the form of a knot of ten or twelve men who approached Perrin on foot, some in mismatched bits and pieces of old armour, all grinning anxiously. He did not recognize any of them. A wide-nosed, leathery-faced fellow seemed to be their leader, his white hair bare but a rusty mail shirt covering him to the knees, though the collar of a farmer’s coat poked up around his neck. He bowed awkwardly over his bow. “Jerinvar al’Azar, my Lord Perrin. Jer, they call me.” He spoke hurriedly, as if afraid of being interrupted. “Pardon for bothering you. Some of us will want to get on home, if that’s all right with you, even if we can’t get there before dark. There’s a few Whitecloaks left in Watch Hill, but they would not come. Had orders to hold fast, they said. Bunch of fools, if you ask me, and we’re more than tired of having them around, poking their noses into people’s houses and trying to make you accuse your neighbour of something. We’ll go back and see them off, if that’s alright with you.” He gave Faile an abashed look, ducking his broad chin, but the flow of words did not slow. “Pardon, my Lady Faile. Didn’t mean to bother you and your lord. Just wanted to let him know we’re with him. A fine woman you have there, my Lord. A fine woman. No offense meant, my Lady. Well, we’ve daylight still, and talk shears no sheep. Pardon for bothering you, my Lord Perrin. Pardon, my Lady Faile.” He bowed again, imitated by the others, and they hurried away with him herding them, muttering at them, “No time for us to be bothering the lord and the lady. There’s work to do yet.”

“Who was that?” Perrin said, a trifle stunned by the torrent; Daisy and Cenn together could not talk that much. “Do you know him, Faile? From Watch Hill?”

“Master al’Azar is the Mayor of Watch Hill’s husband, and the others are the Village Council. The Watch Hill Women’s Circle will be sending a delegation down under their Wisdom once they’re certain it is safe. To see if ‘this Lord Perrin’ is right for the Theren, they say, but they all wanted me to show them how to curtsy to you, and the Wisdom, Edelle Gaelin, is bringing you some of her dried-apple tarts.”

“Oh, burn me!” he breathed. It was spreading. He knew he should have stamped it down hard in the beginning. “Don’t call me that!” he shouted after the departing men. “I’m a blacksmith! Do you hear me? A blacksmith!” Jer al’Azar turned to wave at him and nod before hurrying the others on.

Chortling, Faile tugged at his beard. “You are a sweet fool, my Lord Blacksmith. It is too late to turn back now.” Suddenly her smile became truly wicked. “Husband, is there any possibility you might be alone with your wife any time soon? Marriage seems to have made me as bold as a Domani gall! I know you must be tired, but—” She cut off with a small shriek and clung to his coat as he booted Stepper to a gallop toward the Winespring Inn. For once the cheers that followed did not bother him at all.

“Goldeneyes! Lord Perrin! Goldeneyes!”

* * *

“Well they’re certainly in a cheerful mood,” Alycia said as the by-now-familiar cry went up.

Anna tried to wish Perrin well in his choice, but though she wanted him to be happy some petty part of her hoped that there would be moments in his life when he would regret all that he was leaving behind and cutting himself off from by marrying that damnable Zarine.

But that was a personal pettiness, one that she knew she needed to set aside if she was to address the more important concerns she and Rand had discussed.

“They are only recently married. And it’s been a very eventful month for them,” she explained.

Alycia was a very pretty girl of near enough Anna’s age with the typical Theren look, though with an atypically large bust. Her mother was the Mayor of Deven Ride and had marched off to join the fight in person, bringing with her her eldest daughter and her hulking husband. Anna admired that, even if the al’Quiote women hadn’t seen fit to carry a bow with them like a sensible woman should. She’d have words with them about that later, but for now they needed to discuss the future of the Theren.

“It’s been an eventful month for us all,” Alycia said.

“And there will be more to come, now that Lady Faile is moving in.”

The Deven Ride girl frowned. “Lady Faile. Lady. Why are the upland towns always so fascinated with outlander ways? We don’t need any ‘ladies’ in the Theren.”

Anna dimpled a smile at her. “I couldn’t agree more. Let’s talk.”

* * *

From the thick branch of a leafy oak on the edge of the Westwood, Ordeith stared at Emond’s Field, a mile to the south. It was impossible. Scourge them. Flay them. Everything had been going according to plan. Even Isam had played into his hands. Why did the fool stop bringing Trollocs? He should have brought in enough to turn the Theren black with them! Spittle dripped from his lips, but he did not notice, any more than he realized that his hand was fumbling at his belt. Harry them till their hearts burst! Harrow them into the ground screaming! All planned to make al’Thor howl, and it came to this! The Theren had not even been scratched. A few farms burned did not count, nor a few farmers butchered alive for Trolloc cookpots _. I want the Theren to burn, burn so the fire lives in men’s memories for a thousand years! _

He studied the banner waving over the village, and the one not that far below him. A scarlet wolfhead on scarlet-bordered white, and a red eagle. Red for the blood the Theren must shed to make Rand al’Thor howl.  _ Manetheren. That’s meant to be Manetheren’s banner _ . Someone had told them of Manetheren, had they? What did these fools know of the glories of Manetheren? Manetheren. Yes. There was more than one way to scourge them. He laughed so hard he nearly fell out of the oak before he realized that he was not holding on with both hands, that one gripped his belt where a dagger should have hung. The laugh twisted into a snarl as he stared at that hand. The White Tower held what had been stolen from him. What was his by right as old as the Trolloc Wars.

He let himself drop to the ground, and scrambled onto his horse before looking at his companions. His hounds. The thirty or so Whitecloaks remaining no longer wore their white cloaks of course. Rust spotted their dull plate-and-mail, and Bornhald would never have recognized those sullen, suspicious faces, dirty and unshaven. The humans watched Ordeith, distrustful yet afraid, not even glancing at the Myrddraal in their midst, its slug-pale, eyeless face as bleakly wooden as theirs. The Halfman feared Isam would find it; Isam had not been at all been pleased when that raid on Taren Ferry let so many escape to carry away word of what was happening in the Theren. Ordeith giggled at the thought of Isam discomforted. The man was a problem for another time, if he still lived.

“We ride for Tar Valon,” he snapped. Hard riding to get to the ferry first. Manetheren’s banner, raised again in the Theren after all these centuries. How the Red Eagle had harried him, so long ago. “But Caemlyn first!” Scourge them and flay them! Let the Theren pay first, and then Rand al’Thor, and then ...

Laughing, he galloped north through the forest, not looking back to see if the others followed. They would. They had nowhere else to go now.

* * *

Emond’s Field was far behind him now, but Rand kept walking. Some of the fields he crossed had been burnt and others were still untouched. He barely noticed them either way. He could see the Waterwood in the distance and for some reason a desire to reach it had grown inside him. He’d always loved it there, the quiet ponds, cool and peaceful. It would be nice to have gone back.

As the shakiness faded from his arms and legs, he realized more and more that he was aware of Alanna still. He could feel her. It was as if she had crawled inside his head and taken up residence. If he could feel her, could she feel him the same way? What else could she do? What else? He had to get away from her. But no matter how far he walked, Alanna was still there, curled up in a corner of his brain, watching him.

“The wound, my Lord Dragon,” Izana said again, looking down concernedly from the back of his horse. “Please, if you would just give me a moment to look at it.”

Rand shook his head slowly, without breaking his stride. Why would the man not stop bothering him? It was just a little scratch. The blood didn’t even hinder his vision.

“No. I am sure I could close it, but how many do you think it would take to hold him while I did?” Renay said. Her words were addressed to the other Maidens, but she spoke so loudly that it was plain she meant for Rand to overhear.

“Amindha could probably do it by herself,” Rhian opined, also too loudly. “And she and Jec could definitely do it between them.”

“Sounds fun,” Rand sighed morosely.

There was a shocked pause. “Is that how wetlanders flirt?” Aca asked after a moment, speaking in a much lower voice than her spearsisters had been using.

“It is not. Believe me, I know,” said Jec.

“That is why I asked you,” Aca said dryly.

Rand tried not to hear their banter. The Aiel and the Shienarans had caught up to him not long after Tief and the others tried to kill him. They’d been surrounding him ever since, walking or riding wherever he was going. He supposed it was a sign of good progress that the two groups weren’t eyeing each other as suspiciously as they once had. But Rand couldn’t find it in himself to be happy about that just then.

“We should not go too far, my Lord Dragon. It will make it difficult for Lan Dai Shan and Moiraine Sedai to catch up to us,” Geko said. He was looking back over his shoulder at the distant village. Rand refused to do the same. He would look forward now, just as Moiraine had said. It would be better for everyone. He didn’t stop walking.

After a moment of silence, Areku spoke up. “Anna and Min and Loial might get lost, too. And the maids.” Rand’s steps dragged to a halt.  _ She knows me well _ , he thought tiredly. They were in the middle of an open field, untilled and perhaps unclaimed. So many families had died out in recent times, and perhaps more would soon follow them. He dropped to a crouch, and then sat back on the soft earth to watch the clouds darken as the sun crept towards the horizon.

He was still sitting so when the sounds of trotting horses reached his ears.

Moiraine and Lan did not come alone, but their companions weren’t as Areku had predicted. Anna and Loial had stayed behind, while Tam and Raine accompanied Min and the two maids.

Tam swung down from his horse, took one look and Rand and sighed disappointedly. “Why haven’t you let that be treated, lad?”

“He is sulking,” Aca said unhelpfully.

Rand sighed. “It’s really not that big a deal.”

“Fool,” Lan said succinctly.

Moiraine swung gracefully from her saddle and handed the reins off to Lan, before approaching Rand. Tam gave his reins over to Ragan, and then hastened to join her. She studied him expressionlessly for a long minute before she turned her gaze to Rand.

“Head wounds are serious, even when the cut is shallow. I will Heal this.” So saying, she reached out towards Rand’s head, but he flinched away from her before she could touch him.

“Don’t—Don’t use the One Power on me. Not without my permission,” he said tightly. His heart has hammering in an unnatural way.

“Do not be foolish. You are injured,” Moiraine chided.

“Just don’t touch me!” Rand snapped. He wanted  _ saidin _ but found himself suddenly too nervous to form the void.

Moiraine knelt before him silently, her dark, slightly slanted eyes looking deep into his. He thought he saw a moment’s tenderness there, but quickly dismissed it as his imagination. Moiraine cared for nothing but her cause.

“Do not liken me to her,” she said in a near whisper. “I have had many chances to do as she did, and never once have I given in to temptation. Let me Heal you. Trust me.”

Bitterness twisted Rand’s mouth. “Trust you? We trusted you with the Horn of Valere, and look where that led. What happened to Bornhald—” he grimaced. “What I did to Bornhald is what I would probably have had to do to Syoman Surtir, back in Falmerden, if the Horn hadn’t been sounded and Mabriam en Shereed hadn’t convinced him of who and what I was. If we’d had it here now, maybe it could have prevented this, too. Maybe I wouldn’t have had to burn a good man alive, and kill hundreds of soldiers that we might end up missing when Tarmon Gai’don comes. Did you ever think of that!?” He hadn’t realised he was shouting until the last words left his mouth.

Lan stared down at him in disapproval, while Min fidgeted atop her horse, but Moiraine was completely unruffled by Rand’s bitter accusations. “If you hadn’t come back to the Theren, against my advice, those things wouldn’t have happened either,” she said calmly. “And you should not be relying on the Horn to save you all the time.”

“I wanted proof that I’m not a false Dragon, not to be saved!” he growled. “I didn’t need saving from Alanna or Bornhald, Light blast me. But what proof should I show? The Horn in the Tower or the sword in the unassailable fortress?” He shook his head and breathed out a curse. “Aes Sedai. If you’d all just leave me alone ...” But they never would, that was more obvious than ever now. He could still feel Alanna, but it was fainter here—if a certainty that she was in that direction could be said to be faint. He could have pointed it out with his eyes closed.

“Then you would die,” Moiraine said with fraying patience. “As you would have died a dozen times over already, if not for my protection. As you may yet die if you do not let me treat that wound.”

“Just let you do as you please? Just stand there and take it and never hit back?” Rand lowered his head. Maybe she was right. It was what a proper Theren man would do. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper and hit Alanna like that,” he confessed.

“She  _ is _ a woman, my Lord Dragon, meaning no disrespect, and an Aes Sedai,” said Nangu, nodding. Several more of the Shienarans nodded along with him.

“Burn that,” his father swore.

Rand raised his head to stare at Tam, and he wasn’t the only one. “But ... but you always taught me—”

“I taught you what my parents taught me and their parents taught them. That doesn’t necessarily make it right. What that woman did, Aes Sedai or no, absolutely deserved retribution,” Tam declared.

Rand’s head, already aching from the cut to his temple and the unwelcome presence of Alanna’s bond, swam at this sudden new viewpoint. What his father was saying went against years of beliefs that had been as indisputably true as rain being wet. He couldn’t make sense of it all just then.

“You look like you are about to pass out,” Moiraine said. “As I said before, recall you all the times I could have harmed you, and did not. Let me Heal you now.”

“It makes sense, lad,” Tam said. Moiraine’s lips thinned at his support, and only thinned further when Rand nodded his consent only after hearing it.

The shocking feel of a Healing was even more disconcerting this time, so soon after Alanna’s trickery, but Rand dug his fingers into the stubborn soil of the Theren and managed not to pull away from Moiraine’s touch, no matter how much his skin crawled.

When the Healing had run its course, the split skin on Rand’s temple had closed completely, but the ache in his skull remained. He drew a deep breath and decided he’d have to rely on a more natural solution.

“I take it going back to Emond’s Field isn’t an option,” he sighed. “They hate me now. They blame me for the Trollocs coming.”

“Aye, my lord—they  _ do _ accuse thee. I could see it in their faces, hear it in their voices. But they do accuse thee unjustly,” Saeri proclaimed from the back of her ridiculously huge warhorse.

“Not all of them,” Min said hastily. “Anna was wandering around thumping anyone who badmouthed you when I last saw her. Emi, Sara, Loise. Even that fool Tief who tried to shoot you. I heard plenty of them speaking in your defence.”

“Well, that’s something at least. That they don’t all hate me. I’d like to believe that.” After a minute, he sighed again and clambered to his feet. “The Waterwood isn’t far. We should be able to make it before nightfall.” Some lingering vestige of courtesy forced him to offer his hand to Moiraine to help her rise. She took it, but only after raising a brow in surprise.

It wasn’t too far a walk, and the Aiel certainly didn’t look tired. Rand would have walked the rest of the way, but Min urged her Wildrose over to him and offered him her hand. “You can ride behind me if you like,” she said, almost shyly. She moved her boot from the stirrup to let him mount, and it would surely have been the height of rudeness to refuse. So he took her hand in his, surprised at how quick her pulse was, and climbed atop the horse’s rump, just behind her saddle. It was a slow pace she set, but Rand put his hands upon her waist anyway, just in case. He half-expected her to object, or to make fun of him in some way. But Min didn’t seem to mind at all.

* * *

Gaunt face set with grim purpose, Jaret Byar galloped with the sinking sun to his left and never looked back. He had seen all he needed to, all he could with that accursed firestorm. The legion was dead, Lord Captain Geofram Bornhald was dead, and there was only one explanation for that: Darkfriends had betrayed them, Darkfriends like that Perrin of the Theren, and his master, the Dreadlord Rand al’Thor. That word he had to carry to Dain Bornhald, the Lord Captain’s son, and to none less than Pedron Niall himself. He had to tell of the atrocities he had seen at Emond’s Field. He flogged his horse with his reins and never looked back.


	82. The Kinslayer's Love

CHAPTER 79: The Kinslayer’s Love

There was still the threat of stray Trollocs roaming the Waterwood, so Lan and the others insisted on doubling the sentries that night, but Rand wasn’t inclined to heed their safety concerns. He knew he’d have to leave the Theren again, this time forever, and wanted some time alone to wallow in memory. They objected when he told them as much, of course, but he insisted, using the excuse that he wanted to bathe. It was only half a lie.

He walked a fair bit away from camp in search of a favourite spot of his from the good old days. The chill air didn’t trouble him when he stripped to his skin, nor did the water make him shiver when he waded into his pool of choice. He’d always liked the cold.

The water was dark and deep enough to drown in but that didn’t frighten him. He knew these pools well; they were almost home to him. He let this one cradle him, and cradle him it did, supporting his weight as he floated peacefully, the slight lapping combing imaginary fingers through his hair. The water muffled all sound, even that which came from within, which was particularly welcome after all that had happened. Rand floated in the glorious calmness, staring up at the crescent moon, and knew a welcome contentment in that simple thing.

He floated there for some time before his peace was disturbed by the patter of raindrops. Oddly irregular raindrops. He cracked a curious eye open only to find the weather as clear as could be hoped. And yet, another little something tapped against his chest before plopping into the pond.

You had to remain calm in order to float as he was, and Rand was able to at first. Right up until he followed the source of the disturbance and found Min sitting on a rock at the edge of the pond, rolling another little clod of soil between her thumb and finger, ready to fire. That alone wouldn’t have been enough to disturb his equilibrium—Min was always playing around like that—but this time she was doing it while absolutely stark naked.

The moonlight cast everything in shades of black and white, darkening Min’s hair and lightening her skin. She was posed artfully, as though she’d been sitting there for some time. The way she crossed her slender legs at the knee emphasised her wide hips and narrow waist, and when she set aside her missiles to rest her hands, one atop the other, upon her knee, it caused her arms to accidentally push her round breasts together, making it impossible not to see how full and soft and desirable they were.

She smiled when she saw him notice her, her teeth flashing white, and her midnight eyes shining bright enough to shame even them.

Calm was gone, taking thought with it. Rand went under, losing hearing and sight as well. Instinctually, he spun around and found the soft muck of the pond bottom with his feet, then reared up, coughing and spluttering, throwing droplets of water all over the place.

“Oops. Sorry if I scared you, sheepherder,” Min laughed.

Rand stared at her, at a loss for words. A tinge of wariness showed on Min’s face, but then she drew a deep breath—once again doing very eye-catching things to her bosom—stood up and began wading into the pond. Her most intimate parts were covered only by a dark triangle of hair at first, until she moved into the deeper area where Rand stood. He himself was covered by water up to his waist, a thing for which he was suddenly very grateful.

“M-Min. W-what are you doing?” he stammered embarrassingly.

For once she did not make fun of him. “The water looked nice. And it’s been such a trying day. You seemed so relaxed, how could I resist?”

Rand didn’t feel very relaxed any more. Or cold. Quite the opposite, in both cases. The water hid Min’s hips from his eyes as she got closer, but nothing could hide them from his memory. One glimpse had been enough to burn them into it. She was a beautiful woman.

He swallowed.  _ I shouldn’t be thinking of her like that. She’s my friend _ . She was probably his best friend, in fact. Once it would have been Mat and Perrin he’d have said that of, with no way for him to differentiate between them, but the things they had all seen and done in the past year had driven wedges between he and them. They were still his friends, he still loved them, but it was no longer the easy, unconditional friendship they’d once enjoyed. The last thing he’d want would be to lose Min, and he was afraid that that was exactly what would happen if he allowed his hands to cup her beautiful face the way they wanted to.

Rand’s heart was racing and his breath coming fast. It made it difficult to say what he needed to say. “I know you like to play around, Min,” he managed, “but this ... I ... I don’t think you know the effect you have on ... You’re really pretty, I mean. You shouldn’t ...”

She stood before him now, the moonlight illumining her breasts and the dark nipples that pointed towards him. Min made no effort to cover herself, instead she cocked her head to the side and smiled teasingly. “So you don’t think I look like a boy then?”

“Light no!”

“Good.” She chewed her lip cutely for a moment before continuing. “You know, Rand. This water’s not as warm as I thought it would be. I think I could use a hug. To warm me up.”

Rand, who was rock hard by then, didn’t dare let her get any closer. He raised his hands towards her in supplication. “I shouldn’t. You’re such a good friend. I wouldn’t want to offend you. I wouldn’t want to lose you.”

It was her turn to gulp, and to wet suddenly dry lips. “I wouldn’t be offended Rand. And I’m not going anywhere.” She reached out, brushed his hands aside, and stepped into his embrace.

Rand had only thought his heart was racing before. Now it threatened to break through his ribs. Min’s gentle hug was enough to brush her silky skin against his ... and to press her belly up against his arousal. Her face rested against the hard plane of his chest, and he could have sworn he felt her smile.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, blushing.

When Min looked up into his eyes again, there was a new boldness written upon her face. “Don’t be,” she said as she reached up to place her hands behind his head and pull him down into her kiss.

It wasn’t a friendly kiss that she bestowed upon him. It wasn’t sisterly and it wasn’t playful. The night’s chill had been unable to make him shiver, but with a single brush of her lips against his, Min made Rand tremble. His arms were around her before he realised he’d moved them, pressing her body hard against his, even as his lips tried to devour her own. Devour was the word, too, for in that mad and magical moment, Rand wanted nothing so much as to wrap Min within his everything, to consume her warmth and her goodness and her spirit and thereby somehow become one, joined together forever.

It didn’t work of course. It was merely a mad notion that came over him. As it passed, and she remained a separate being from him, Rand relaxed his grip upon Min, suddenly fearful that he had hurt her.

Her breath came shuddering from her. “Oh. So that’s how it happens. Makes sense,” she whispered. She opened her eyes, and he saw none of the condemnation he had feared to find there, only warmth and desire and perhaps ... Could it be ...? “About time, too,” she said as she stood on her tiptoes and stretched her mouth up in search of more.

Rand cupped her face in his hands and kissed her deeply. “Min,” he breathed.

He pulled her into his embrace and ran his fingers through the short, dark, rarely brushed hair that had always made her seem more approachable than other girls to him. “My Min.”

He ran his hands down her slender back and across the lovely curves of her waist and dared to caress her gloriously rounded bottom. “My beautiful Min.”

When she didn’t object to his forwardness, but instead ground her hips against him, he reached up to cup one of her breast in his palm and massage it tenderly. She whimpered against his mouth. “My beloved Min,” he whispered, too stunned by how pretty she looked in her desire, and how sweet the sounds she was making were, to realise what he was saying.

A brief dip of her knees was all the warning Rand got before Min threw herself against him, jumping upwards, heedless of the splashing sounds she made and trusting him to catch her. When he did, locking his arms around her, she wrapped her legs about his waist and her arms about his neck. Her lips had only been parted from his for a brief moment, but she kissed him as hungrily as though it had been years.

Rand could scarcely believe what was happening.  _ Min. Min and I?  _ It seemed too perfect to be real, but there she was, her most intimate parts hovering mere inches above his straining manhood, exposed and open and—dare he dream?—welcoming?

Under the water, he sought her out by touch alone, fumbling in search of her as he always had and always would. When at last the tip of his cock brushed against her soft flower, Min’s eyes snapped open. He spoke his question into her big, soulful eyes. A tiny nod was his answer. He held her steady before him in the water, and Min relaxed the grip of her legs upon his waist, allowing herself to slide slowly downwards.

Her cheeks darkened as the head of his cock parted her hot and unresisting pussy. She looked him straight in the eye as she took him inside her, and somehow that was even sweeter than the wondrous embrace of her sex. Only after wincing in pain did she deny him the sight of her beautiful eyes, but even then she didn’t stop her slow descent, merely tightened her brows and bit her lip as she took him ever deeper inside.

“Light!” she gasped. “So that’s what—” Instead of finishing, she wrapped her arms around his neck once more and rested her forehead upon his shoulder.

Rand cradled her in his arms, wishing he had more hands so he could pet her hair and rub her back and touch her, well, everywhere. But all he could do was hold her by the bottom and support her weight while she adjusted to the feel of him being inside her.

Before long, Min began making little grinding motions against him, letting out soft little whimpers each time she moved. He kissed the side of her neck encouragingly and found that he could feel her pulse racing with his lips and his tongue. The thought that she might be enjoying herself was beyond wondrous to him. He always wanted to please his lovers, but he wanted it even more than normal that night. Whether it was because of all that had happened in Emond’s Field, or because it was Min, his Min, whom he held in his arms, he could not say, but the thought of carrying her to her peak was suddenly more desirous than winning Tarmon Gai’don itself.

The rocking of Min’s hips gradually intensified, each rolling motion sending a spike of tingling pleasure through Rand’s body. Animal desire surged in Rand but he tamped it down, knowing that patience would bring him a release that was far sweeter, and something else that was sweeter still.

“You feel so good, Min,” he murmured. His encouragement seemed to reach her, for she began rubbing herself up and down his length, still making those sweet little noises when she moved.

When she raised her head from his shoulder and leaned back to look him in the eye, he knew she was ready. Her breasts quivered lightly with the rocking of her hips, the entrancing motion drawing his gaze to her stiff little nipples. Again he wished his hands were free, but was forced to content himself with staring at her beauty instead of touching it.

Rand laid Min out upon the fresh water of that Waterwood pond, supporting her weight with a hand at the small of her back and another behind her neck. The water lapped around her body as it had only recently lapped around his, and when he began to move himself inside her, she let her head fall back, dampening her hair and slicking it to her skull. Her breasts strained upwards as she stared at the same moon he’d been so recently fascinated by. The thought that this place might come to be as special to her as it was to him drove Rand to renewed passion. It took all his self-control to keep his thrusts slow and steady, to maintain the angle he knew he should use to please her best.

Min’s cries of pleasure grew louder and more insistent. Her hands gripped his forearms as though to urge him on. Rand has more than happy to oblige. Her back arched a little further with each long stroke of his cock along her innermost body, her trembling breasts reaching for the moon.

He was glad that Min kept her nails as neatly trimmed as he did his own, for had it been otherwise the way that her grip tightened on his arms might have drawn blood. As it was, her loss of control only made him smile fondly. Her breath hitched, her body spasmed, and then her tight little pussy began fluttering around him. She breathed out his name as she came, and with it that sweetest of benedictions. “Rand ... I love you.”

He smiled a broad smile and spoke without thinking. “I love you, too.”

The sight of Min’s body and the thrill of her touch were inspiring enough, but seeing her in the throes of orgasm was almost too much for Rand to bear. He managed to restrain himself long enough to milk the last spasms of her climax, but as soon as he saw her relax, as soon as that sweetly dopey smile crossed her face, he lost control.

Min gasped for breath with each fast, hard thrust of Rand’s cock when he began fucking her in earnest. She didn’t tell him to stop, but just floated there, embraced by him and by the water both, bravely taking everything he had to give. And he gave her a lot.

The sight of her, the feel of her, her trust, her acceptance. It was all too much. The moon seemed to flare with light, banishing the night’s shadows, when Rand came inside her. The pleasure was such that it drove all thought from his mind, but his lips formed a word nonetheless. “Min!”

As he emptied himself into her, Rand’s strength began to fail him. His knees trembled, his arms grew weak, and he found himself blinking slowly and stupidly.

Giggling, Min pushed free of his body, floating briefly upon the pond before coming to her feet. She caught him by chest and shoulders as though trying to support his weight. “Easy there, sheepherder. Don’t drown yourself. I’d have a hard time explaining  _ that _ to Moiraine!”

“Ahm fine. Jus ... jus a little ... Wow,” Rand mumbled.

Min grinned, looking quite pleased with herself for some reason. She took Rand by the arm and tugged him over towards the edge of the pond, the water washing against their young bodies. As she climbed out before him, he was treated to the truly spectacular sight of her bare bottom. Her cheeks were round and pert, parted by smooth, arching curves that continued on towards the edges of her hips. With each step she took, those cheeks rubbed against each other enticingly. If Rand hadn’t been so exhausted, he’d have tried to have her again, there and then.

As it was, he was barely able to reach the spot where he’d deposited his clothes earlier before he collapsed to the ground. Min lowered herself a good deal more gracefully to sit beside him.

A silence fell between them. Min glanced at him and then looked away, chewed her lip for a moment, then glanced again, and looked away again. Eventually she spoke, if in an elaborately casual voice. “So. What just happened?”

She sat there, shining fit to shame the moon, and asked him that. Such a simple question, yet the answer that sprang to mind had Rand feeling as though he was ten years younger.

“Ah, w-what do you think happened? Why did you follow me out here?” he asked, and then blushed, embarrassed as much by the foolishness of his own question as by the situation they found themselves in.

Min looked momentarily hurt, but then her lips thinned. “I ... thought we could comfort one another. I was ready to cry myself to dust because I’d seen one death too many, and you, you were about to do the same for the same reason. What we did, my innocent lamb, was comfort one another. Friends comfort one another at times like that. Close your mouth, you Theren hay-hair.”

“Oh ... friends. Right. Comforting.” Not love. It couldn’t be that. Love was dangerous. Especially for her. “I’m sorry, Min. I know you liked Bornhald. I liked him, too. I wish it hadn’t ended like that.”

“You did what you had to do. I’m just sorry you had to do it. I don’t blame you at all, or think any less of you.”

“Thanks. That means a lot. You’re ... you’re the best person I know,” he said awkwardly.

She smiled brightly and then settled down beside him, atop the makeshift bed their discarded clothes had made. With her back to him like that, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to wrap his arms around her and rest his cheek upon her damp hair. Despite everything that had happened earlier that day, sleep came easily to Rand.

His dreams however, were not so peaceful.

_ Callandor _ was exactly as he’d last seen it, sparkling in the air in that great red-columned chamber. There was darkness between the columns, but not emptiness. Something unseen watched him from within that darkness, and there was nothing of love in its gaze. The sword yet called to him.  _ Take me, and begin the final journey _ , it seemed to say. Everything else was dark, but the sword, the sword was Light itself. He had taken a dozen stumbling steps towards it before he realised that the floor he trod on was damaged and uneven.

When he looked down he saw a horror made real. A promise long in the making that was now fulfilled. It had had to be done. It was the path he’d been set, the destiny that was written for him millennia ago.

But he recoiled from it. There was nowhere else to set his feet, but he danced to and fro in search of any spot upon that path that was not stained with the blood of his people, his friends. His loves. Their corpses coated the once clean marble of that great chamber. Their eyes, each and every one, were fastened upon him in silent, lifeless accusation. Even hers. In life she had forgiven him so much, tolerated so many of his shortcomings and mistakes, but in death she finally realised the truth. Only in death would Min finally know him for the monster he was.

“No!” he cried uselessly. “Not her!” He wished it could have been different. He wished there had been another way. But fate would not be denied. His body moved of its own accord, as though he were a marionette in the hands of a giant, unknowable puppeteer. Under its guidance, Rand took another few steps towards his destiny, treading upon Min’s lifeless corpse as he did so.

“No,” he groaned, tears leaking from his eyes. She shared his horror and stirred beneath him, trying to shake off his unwelcome weight. As she did so, her warm and smooth skin slid against his and brought him back to awareness.

Min grumbled in her sleep but did not wake. She snuggled back against him, made a few nonsensical little noises, and then lay still once more. Within moments, her breathing had returned to the smooth cadence of deep sleep.

Not so Rand’s. He was panting as though he’d just come from the battlefield. His heart hammered as though there was a Myrddraal staring at him. Sitting up hastily, he scanned the area around them in search of hidden enemies but found none. He knew he’d be able to feel the presence of any Shadowspawn, but rationality had little hold on his mind just then. He climbed naked to his feet, his hands itching for the sword he’d left back at camp.

_ Or better yet, the other sword. The glowing one. If I had that, no-one would be able to deny that I was the Dragon Reborn. If I’d had that, then maybe Bornhald wouldn’t have tried to kill me, and my friends wouldn’t have driven me away _ .

But what would be the price of that acknowledgement? He looked down at Min as she slept peacefully beside the Waterwood pool, remembering her accusing eyes and how still she’d lain, this girl who was so animated in life. A shiver ran through Rand’s body. He couldn’t do that, not to her. Not to anyone, but especially not to her. He loved her too much to ever hurt her.

The shiver became a violent trembling as the truth crashed down upon him. He loved Min. Of course he loved her. How could he not love her? How could anyone not love her?

And how could anyone who loved her inflict upon her the company of the Dragon Reborn?

Rand backed away from her sleeping form. She’d be better off without him. He needed to ... he needed to ... be elsewhere. To fulfil his destiny, prove the Prophecies true. And he needed to do it somewhere far away from her.

In a panic, he snatched up what clothes he could reach. His shirt and coat were trapped underneath Min, and there was no way he was going to risk waking her to get them. As he hastily dressed, he recalled the sword and bow and armour he’d left back at camp. Useful things, but in that moment Rand could not countenance the thought of going back to get them.

He waited only long enough to stamp his feet into his boots before fleeing deeper into the Waterwood. It was dark still, and he was naked from the waist up, not to mention unarmed and without supplies, but he fled as though a pack of Darkhounds were on his heels. He had  _ saidin _ still. That would have to be enough to see him to his destination.

The sun was only just rising when he reached the river on the far side of the wood. The Alguenya, it was called. He’d seen it before, but far to the north, where it was host to the busy docks of Cairhien city. Far fewer people lived here. There were no towns to see, no fishing boats or ferrys. He’d have to trust to fate’s cruel patronage to bring him what he needed. He was  _ ta’veren _ after all. And  _ Callandor _ was calling to him.

Rand expected that anyone else might have stood on that shore for hours before a boat sailed by, and waited for days for one that was willing to stop to pick up a strange, half-naked fool standing there waving. But he was indeed  _ ta’veren _ . He only waited for a matter of minutes before a distant sail appeared, and once they drew close enough to see him, several sailors gathered curiously at the railing to peer his way. An anchor was dropped and a smaller boat lowered from the starboard side. Thick-shouldered men began rowing it over to where Rand stood waiting. The strange ship had been travelling south to Tear, where the only part of the Prophecies that he actually knew of was to be fulfilled.  _ Callandor _ called. And it was past time that he answered.


	83. Left Behind

CHAPTER 80: Left Behind

Sleepiness and confusion teamed up to befuddled Min’s mind that morning. When the sunlight first teased her eyes and lulled her to wakefulness, she thought she was still dreaming. Why else would she be lying naked in the middle of a forest?

But a good dosing of cool morning air, as well as the sight of the nearby pond, was enough to bring her back to true awareness. Her cheeks coloured instantly.

_ I—I did it. With Rand _ . She’d never been with a man before last night. Memory flooded her mind, and threatened to flood her loins as well. It had been an incredible experience. As little as she liked having her fate decided for her by the Pattern, if last night was anything to go by, then being in love with Rand wouldn’t be even remotely terrible. And she was. In love with him. There was no sense in trying to deny that now.

And he was in love with her, too. He’d said as much while they were ...

Clearing her throat, Min sat up in the makeshift bedding and looked around. There was no sign of Rand, but she wasn’t alarmed. His coat and shirt were still there, and she recalled falling asleep in his arms last night. She imagined he’d gone off to attend to the call of nature.

_ But should I be naked when he gets back? Now that’s the question _ . Giggling softly to herself, Min toyed with idea of going for another swim, exploring his body some more, and letting him explore deep inside hers ... But as tempting as the idea was, the others would surely come looking for them soon, and she didn’t want to be caught in the act.

So she gathered up her clothes and dressed herself as she waited for Rand to come back. She gathered his shirt and coat as well but couldn’t find the rest of his things. Draping the clothes he’d left behind over her shoulder, Min stood there for a while, twiddling her thumbs. She stood there for quite a long while in fact. Too long. By the time she resolved to go look for him, she was biting her lip in worry. By the time she’d completed a full circuit of the pond she’d given her virginity to him in, her heartbeat had quickened with nervousness.

“Rand!” she called for what had to be the tenth time. “Where are you!? This isn’t funny, sheepherder!”

There was no answer. Min found herself near tears, and had to struggle for composure. She supposed he might have gone back to camp without her ... but that wasn’t like him at all. He was very protective. Over-protective even. Even before they had confessed their feelings to each other, she’d have had a hard time believing he would leave her to sleep alone in a strange forest. But what alternative was there? Where else could he have gone?

Min turned her feet for the camp, and tried to still her nerves as she walked. Everything had felt so right. She’d fallen asleep with her body thoroughly sated, her doubts assuaged, warmed by his bulk at her back and sheltered by the strong arms he’d wrapped around her chest. All had been right in her world. And now this.

Her steps dragged as she drew closer to camp. How was she going to explain herself if he wasn’t there? The coat she was carrying suddenly felt incriminating. She could imagine Moiraine’s cool, judging look. Lan towering over her. People laughing and ... Light! Tam al’Thor was there, too! Min winced.  _ Burn you, sheepherder! Where are you!? _ If she hadn’t been so worried, she might have dumped his coat on the ground and tried to pretend she hadn’t seen him at all last night.

The Aiel sentries found her before the Shienarans did, and as her luck would have it it was Cad, the hulking brute whose face looked like it had been cut to pieces and then stitched back together again. He stood up from behind a bush that looked perhaps a fifth his size, making her jump.  _ How in the Light could someone so big have hidden behind something so small?  _ It was embarrassing. She was sure Rand or Anna would have spotted him, but Min was no woodsperson.

“I see you, girl,” he said in a deep voice.

Any other time, Min might have given him a few words of her own to be going away with, for making fun of her like that, but she had a more pressing concern. “Has Rand come back yet?”

The Aiel’s eyes widened slightly. She supposed that was their version of gasping in shock. “Rand al’Thor is not with you?” he asked, his eyes flicking over the coat she carried.

_ I have nothing to be ashamed of! _ Min told herself furiously.  _ I’m a grown woman _ . She shook her head in response to the Aiel’s question, while her stomach twisted into knots. If Rand hadn’t been back this way, then where had he gone?

“You must speak to Urien,” Cad said in the kind of tone that allowed for no dissension.

Min wasn’t in the mood for it. “I must speak to a lot of people. Moiraine among them. You know, the Aes Sedai?”

Cad hesitated briefly, then said, “Go to her. Urien will come.” With that, he turned around and rushed off through the underbrush.

In their heavy armour, the inner ring of Shienaran sentries were easier to spot than the Aiel. It was one of the younger ones, Izana, who confronted her, which might have been cause for concern, what with young men tending to be so smirky and all, but Izana was wise beyond his years and had a good nature. He greeted her with a polite nod. “Miss Farshaw. I trust the Lord Dragon is well?”

She searched his eyes for some hint of mockery and found none. Her suspicion must have shown on her face though, for Izana grew visibly discomfited. “Peace, I mean no disrespect. You are obviously fond of each other. I was merely concerned for his safety,” he said defensively.

“I ... need to speak to Moiraine about that. And Tam, I suppose. And maybe ...” Uno was as rough as a miner’s tongue. She didn’t fancy explaining to him where his lord had gone, especially after what happened last night. “Geko?”

Izana was no fool. “Something is wrong? Is he hurt?” he demanded.

She might have cut him as short as she had Cad but he looked genuinely concerned, and Min hadn’t the heart to be mean to him. “I don’t know. He disappeared,” she said strickenly.

His mouth opened as though he wanted to say something more, but then he shook his head and held out a hand to her. “You’d best not waste time with me, Min. Give me those clothes and I’ll see them taken to the Lord Dragon’s tent. Quietly. Moiraine Sedai must hear of this as soon as possible.”

Min had been steeling herself to march in there bold as brass and silently proclaim to all and sundry that, yes, she had in fact fucked Rand last night. Now that she was offered the chance to hide the evidence of their tryst, she felt suddenly shy. Blushing, she handed Rand’s coat and shirt over to Izana and gave him a quiet little “Thank you” to go with it. He nodded once more, and gestured for her to proceed.

Just as she walked by, Izana’s body was suddenly limned with a red aura. The meaning came to her as it sometimes did: there was something that he wanted which the world could never give him.

The news of Rand’s disappearance had just the effect she had expected. Everyone was so focused on wondering where he had gone and if he was safe that she barely had to deflect any questions about why she had been with him. The worst she got was a calmly weighing look from Moiraine, and a quiet nod of approval from Tam. The last made her shuffle her feet in embarrassment. Tam al’Thor was just the sort of man she’d found attractive before she met Rand. Quietly mature and worldly. Strangely, he didn’t have the effect on her that he once might have. Now she just saw him as her prospective father-in-law, which was cause for an entirely different type of nervousness.

Scouts were sent out immediately, with Lan leading them. Moiraine hadn’t wanted the Aiel to go with them, but Urien ignored her wishes. He ran at their head himself, leaving only Aca and Renay behind, with orders for one of them to come find him should Rand return.

Her news delivered, Min had little to do except sit around and mope, so that was what she did. She hoped he was okay, since all the alternatives were so much worse, but if he was then that meant he’d abandoned her, even after all they’d said and done last night. And that hurt.

“Stupid sheepherder,” she muttered, half under her breath.

She was sitting on a log near the remains of this morning’s breakfast fire, and had thought she was alone until she heard Raine’s voice. “He left us. That wasn’t nice.”

A glance in the voice’s direction revealed the wolfsister sitting on her heels and staring morosely at the fire’s ashes, much as Min had been doing.

“I don’t understand,” Raine continued. “I know why he doesn’t want me. I’m a beast. But you’re a real woman. A good woman. Why leave you?”

Min stared at her. The last thing she wanted was to commiserate with a girl whose interest in Rand was so baldly stated, but capricious fate and wrong-headed farmboys had conspired to dump her and Raine in the same mire.”I don’t know,” she muttered. “But I don’t think it’s my wrong doing. It’s his. And it’s not yours either. You’re not a beast, Raine. Stop calling yourself one.”

But despite her brave words, Raine had poked awake the doubts Min had been quietly nursing. Why had Rand left her? Could she have simply dreamt up the love between them? Her viewing hadn’t told her that he’d love any of them back, only that they would love him. Could it be that she’d made an absolute fool of herself and imagined something that just wasn’t there? It almost made her dread seeing him again.

She and Raine were still sitting together mulling over their worries when Lan and the Shienaran scouts came back. She was so busy trying to read their faces for some clue as to what they had found that at first she didn’t even notice that there were no Aiel with them. It was only when Tam asked after them that she realised they were missing.

“They think to pick up the trail again farther south,” Lan said. “They do not know these lands. Or rivers. They will have a hard time of it.”

The Aiel’s departure didn’t faze Tam. It didn’t even faze Renay and Aca for that matter; they just squatted on their heels off to one side and listened to the reports. “Rand’s trail ended at the river then. The Alguenya?” Tam said.

Lan nodded, but it was to Moiraine whom he addressed himself. Uno and Geko might as well have been tree stumps for all the attention he paid them, and she and Raine twigs. “I saw recent signs of oars being used to steady a small boat in the shallows. If he thought to lose us by wading along the river’s edge, he did so for more than a mile in whichever direction he chose.”

“Then it is likely he took ship,” Moiraine said tightly. “But for where?”

“Not many ships would stop to pick up a passenger like that,” Tam pointed out.

“He is  _ ta’veren _ ,” Moiraine said, making the word sound like a curse. “He draws what he needs to him.” She made a very deliberate show of pulling up the hood of her fine blue cloak. “Whether he wishes it or not. As distasteful as it may be, it occurs to me that Alanna has already given me the means to solve this problem.”

Min’s lips tightened. She was talking about the Warder bond that Alanna had put on Rand. Min didn’t know much about how Warder bonds worked, but she knew she didn’t like the idea of Alanna knowing what Rand was feeling, especially when Min herself did not. And she knew Rand had been far, far from happy to have Alanna bond him like that. Those two things were enough to make Min see Alanna as the sort of woman that a  _ damane _ collar would suit just fine. The last thing she wanted was for them to have to rely on that witch to find out where Rand had gone, but what other choice did they have?

None, so far as Moiraine was concerned. “Break camp, Uno,” she announced abruptly. “and follow us as you can. I will not be waiting for you, for we must make haste back to Emond’s Field. Someone fetch my horse, and quickly!”

Lan went with her of course. And Tam and Raine and everyone else who wasn’t burdened by armour. Min rode alongside them on Wildrose’s back as the land they’d walked across just yesterday now sped by their galloping steeds.

The Thereners didn’t look happy to see them as they approached Emond’s Field, and Lan signalled for a halt while he and Tam went to speak to them. Min scowled to herself. They had some nerve treating them all so rudely after all they had done for them. They had some nerve treating Rand like that, too, even if he was a heartless pig.

Some of the men on guard duty smiled to see her back and then looked surprised that she didn’t return the greeting. She sniffed at them loudly. A woman had her limits. She couldn’t be expected to be friendly and forgiving all the time. The next time she got her hands on Rand al’Thor, she’d teach him that lesson, too. Light send there was a next time.

Emond’s Field was even more packed than it had been when she been staying there, despite all the poor folk who had died in the fighting. Many of the Thereners were attending to the burial of loved ones, a fact that made it hard for Min to hold to her anger at them. Others were off making a start on the horrible job of getting rid of all those dead Shadowspawn. She briefly wondered what they would do with them all—there were enough to form a small mountain if you piled them together—but she had more important things to worry about.

It was, of course, the Winespring Inn to which Moiraine led them, but they were accosted along the way by angry villagers, several of whom Min recognised.

“You lot aren’t welcome here,” wrinkly old Dag Coplin said with a mean glower. Min revised her earlier thought. She only liked some older men. Others were just gross.

“That’s to say, we hope you haven’t come here to cause another ruckus,” the stout cooper, Eward Cauthon said, in the seconds before Moiraine’s icy stare made him shrivel up so much he almost seemed to shrink to half his size.

“I recall you and I having a similar conversation before,” the Aes Sedai said.

“I heard about that,” said Oren Dautry, one of Rand’s neighbours, “but whatever was said and done back then doesn’t change things now. You better not be thinking to bring the al’Thor boy back here. We have children in this village.”

Tam shook his head. “When I think of all the times you came to my door asking to borrow something, Oren Dautry. And all the times you never returned what you’d borrowed ...”

Far from being shamed, Dautry scowled at him. “A few rusty old tools can’t be compared to harbouring a male channeler Tamlin al’Thor.”

“I have no time for this nonsense. Mistress Aydaer, Mistress Candwin, get your men in line,” Moiraine called. She didn’t wait to see if the women she called out to complied with her orders, but just rode forward, leaving the Theren men with the choice of moving or being ridden over. They moved.

It was with no small amount of guilt that Min beheld once more the ruins of the Winespring Inn’s front wall. She wasn’t sure why she felt guilty about that—she certainly hadn’t had anything to do with knocking it over, but that didn’t change her feelings. Still, if she knew her, ah, “Aunt” Marin at all, then that wall wouldn’t remain down for long.

The woman in question was overseeing a work crew dedicated to clearing the rubble when Moiraine dismounted in the street outside. Her husband and her two younger daughters were with her, working just as diligently as the labourers, but everyone stopped what they doing at the Aes Sedai’s return.

Loise and Alene searched among the riders with hope on their faces, only to look disappointed at a certain someone’s absence. That was another two Thereners at least who didn’t think Rand had grown goat’s hooves all of a sudden. That was comforting. She liked all of the al’Vere sisters, but especially Alene. It was a pity she’d never get to meet this Egwene that they all spoke of. She was sure they’d have gotten along, too.

It was their mother who spoke though. “Once again you return to us, Moiraine Sedai. What are you a harbinger of this time?” Her tone was perfectly calm and polite, but she looked more than a little fed up with the sight of that particular Aes Sedai.

Moiraine didn’t care about that, of course. “I will speak to Alanna Sedai. Is she within?” she said with her usual unflappable serenity.

“She is. The Wisdom is with her,” Marin said. That was right. Maigan couldn’t Heal, and even Aes Sedai who could, like Alanna, couldn’t use the ability upon themselves. She’d need the Wisdom’s ointments and tinctures to treat her bruises. Min felt no guilt about that, as she had over the wall, despite the damage having been caused by the same man.

“Take me to her,” Moiraine said, handing her reins to Saeri and dismounting gracefully. Lan slid from his own saddle and handed Mandarb over to the other maid before following Moiraine towards the inn. When Tam tried to do the same Moiraine spoke over her shoulder to him, her tone casual but her eyes piercing. “Wait here, Master al’Thor. We won’t be long.”

Tam complied after only a brief hesitation, but he tucked his thumbs behind his swordbelt and studied the Aes Sedai thoughtfully as he watched her go. “She doesn’t like anyone being near him that she can’t control,” he said after a while. “She’d rather the only advice he ever get is her own, and the only things he—or anyone else, really—ever learns are the things she teaches them. She’d be rid of me if she could. And probably some of the others, too.”

Min thought of the Horn of Valere, now off in Tar Valon, far beyond her reach. She had to admit that Moiraine did tend to be very controlling. But what could they do about that? She was an Aes Sedai after all.

While Min was mulling over Tam’s words, some sullen girl was speaking to Saeri behind her. She barely listened to their talk, especially after hearing the girl going on about “that bloody man”, since she was sure it would be just more complaints about Rand’s channelling. It was only when she realised that Saeri hadn’t launched into a long-winded speech about how heroic Rand was, as she usually did whenever anyone criticised him, that she turned around to see what was going on.

The sullen girl, surprisingly, was the usually cheerful Imoen. She was kitted out for travel, with a thick, hooded cloak about her shoulders, a pack strapped to her back and the bow she’d been using during the battle in her hand. A full quiver hung from her belt, dangling almost low enough to reach her ankles. She was a pretty little thing, and would probably be a beautiful woman once she was grown, but that day was still a long ways off. She couldn’t be more than thirteen, yet the gear she was carrying and the stubborn thrust of her chin spoke of trouble brewing.

“I figure since you’re the same age as me, it won’t be a problem,” she was saying, while Saeri nodded enthusiastically.

“It shall be wonderful, Imoen! We will serve the Lord Dragon together and help him save the world!”

“Well I don’t know about serving,” Imoen scoffed. “Rand’s kind of my brother, sort of. I take care of him. He’ll need me to watch his back I bet.”

Tam turned to face her, his arms folded before his broad chest and a look of parental censure on his face. “What’s this I hear, Imoen Candwin? If I know Ailys or Eward even a little—and I do!—there’s no way they’d allow their child to go off into danger like that. You’d best get on home, and hope they never hear that you were thinking of running away.”

“I’m not thinking of it, Master al’Thor! I already have. I wrote them a letter and everything,” Imoen declared. “I won’t live with them a moment longer. It’s bad enough that da embarrassed us by trying to burn the inn down with Moiraine Sedai in it last year, but now he keeps going on about how bad Rand and everyone who helps him are. And now mama agrees with him! At least she told him what’s what when he went on about Moiraine. And never mind how Rand came to rescue us from the Whitecloaks, or his fighting all those Shadowspawn. I can’t stand it! I’m going, with you all or by myself, but I’m going either way!”

Tam took his time about responding, and Min wondered if he was at as much a loss for words as she was. Eventually, he let out a small sigh and spoke to Imoen in a gentle voice. “I’m sure Rand will be moved by your support, Imoen, when I tell him about this. But it really wouldn’t be right. You should stay with your parents.”

A sulky look crossed Imoen’s face but she bowed her head before Tam. “If that’s how it has to be,” she sighed.

“When you’re older it will be different, lass. Tough it out until then, and be polite to your parents, even when they are wrong,” Tam said with a smile.

He turned away as though the matter was settled, but Min was less certain of that than he seemed. Saeri and Luci put their heads together with Imoen, all three of them whispering intently. She supposed she’d have to give them credit for trying not to look conspiratorial, even if they were doing an absolutely terrible job of it. She wondered if she should interfere. Imoen was very young to be leaving home, however much she thought she wanted to, Tam was right about that.

A low growl had been building in Raine’s chest. Min understood her frustration. Standing there in the street under the watchful eyes of so many suspicious people while they waited for Moiraine to deliver the news was getting on her nerves as well. When the growl finally burst from Raine’s lips however, it was not what Min had expected.

“Why are we waiting on her!? She is not Shadowkiller’s woman. You are! The stray should be made to speak to you.”

Min stared into those yellow eyes and felt her own face catch fire. Right there, in front of Tam and the girls and who knew how many others that might be close enough to hear. Right there, she said all that.  _ I take back all the nice things I’ve ever said and thought about her! _ True, she suspected Tam had already guessed what was going on with her and Rand, but that wasn’t the same as talking about it openly!

“She is? Then why is she so mean to him?” Saeri said. She looked more nonplussed than embarrassed, despite her tender age.

“I’m not mean to him at all,” Min muttered. If anything, she wasn’t mean enough!

When Moiraine and Lan finally returned, they brought the other Aes Sedai and Warders with them, as well as their newest future-Novice, Merile. Though usually sweet natured and timid, Merile had a rather serious look on her face as she trailed the Aes Sedai out of the inn.

Alanna was dressed for travel, Min noticed, though Maigan was not. Ihvon ran a suspicious eye over Tam and Raine as he took up a position at Alanna’s shoulder, his hand resting on his sword hilt. His Aes Sedai looked at him irritably.

“Rand isn’t here. And the others are no threat. Make sure there has been no mischief done to our horses. This place’s welcome no longer warms me.”

Min smiled a small, sharp smile. She wondered which of the al’Veres had been, as Imoen put it, telling Alanna what’s what. Ihvon noticed her expression and gave her a cold look in return before marching off to do as Alanna told him.

“There is some good news at least,” Moiraine said. “Rand is alive.”

Min shrugged. Of course he was alive. There were viewings of him that hadn’t come true yet. She was so indifferent to Moiraine’s “news” that she gave a start when Tam sighed in relief. Had he been worried about that? Maybe she should have said something about her viewings to him earlier.

“Where is Shadowkiller?” Raine asked Alanna. Her voice and her expression were so nakedly hostile that Min probably wouldn’t have answered her question just on general principle.

Alanna, unsurprisingly, was even less willing to put up with being spoken to like that than Min was. “Are you speaking of my new Warder you unkempt beggar?”

“No. She’s speaking of the man who dangled you by your neck the last time you called him that,” Min said. Then she blinked, wondering if her expression had been as nakedly hostile as her voice had sounded. Well. Alanna just seemed to bring that out in people. It was her own fault.

Maigan sniffed. “You allow these people to travel in your company, yet you have not taught them the respect due Aes Sedai, Moiraine? I am disappointed.”

“I will just have to do that myself then,” said Alanna as she pulled a pair of fine leather riding gloves from behind her belt, and began to put them on. The heat in her dark eyes was very much at odds with her cold voice.

“She’s coming with us?” Min asked Moiraine. “After what she did?”

“Yes. Maigan will attend to the Amyrlin’s mission here alone, while Alanna assists me with mine elsewhere.”

“It is my mission now, Moiraine,” the Green sister said, her head raised proudly, “but you may assist as needed. I will want to know everything you can tell me about my new Warder, so I can decide how best to guide him.”

Min opened her mouth angrily, but Moiraine froze her tongue with a look. “You will see how well he accepts guidance once we find him,” was all she said before turning her attention to her own Warder. “Lan, I will want to speak to Perrin.” He nodded wordlessly before striding off.

“Merile. You will be staying with Maigan now. Heed her well, child,” Alanna said. If she was sorry to part with her most recent student, she showed no sign of it. But then, she was a Borderlander. Min imagined that lot wouldn’t have much good to say about the  _ Tuatha’an _ and their Way of the Leaf. They couldn’t afford peace, not when the Shadow might kill them all if they ever stopped fighting. And they tended to be a proud lot, not all timid and chirpy, like Merile.

“No. I won’t be going to the White Tower after all,” the Tinker girl said.

There was a long silence as all those gathered tried to make sense of what they had just heard. Not even the three girls, who were still whispering together, looking as surprised as the Aes Sedai. From the look on Alanna’s face you’d think a sheep had just proposed to her.

It was Maigan who recovered first. “Do not be a fool, child. You must and will attend the White Tower. There you will learn to control your power, and some day, perhaps, become Aes Sedai yourself.”

“No,” Merile repeated. “Not after what I saw Alanna do to Rand. I may be Lost now, but I am not so Lost that I would join a group that does such things to my friends.”

“You will come to understand that some things are necessary for the good of the world,” Alanna said angrily. “You will come to understand that after you go to the White Tower. And long after you are done sobbing yourself to sleep in the Novice quarters. I will see to that last part myself,” she finished with great satisfaction.

Merile shook her head cheerily. “No. I’m going with Rand’s people. Moiraine said he’s the Dragon Reborn and Aes Sedai can’t lie. I’m going to help him save the world, not you. I think he’d be better at it really. He’s nice. He doesn’t go around boasting about being able to make people cry and such. And he needs someone to Heal him. I could do that. I wouldn’t even have to give up the Way to do that much. That would be nice, too.” She blinked at all the staring faces surrounding her. “I’m rambling, sorry. But I have made my choice. And I will save the world with Rand, whatever you think.”

“Good for you!” Min said, grinning despite Moiraine and the other two’s censorious looks.

“You’re welcome to come with us, lass,” Tam said with a calm that could match Moiraine’s. He didn’t even blink at her auger-like stare. “I’ll speak to Uno once he arrives. I’m sure he can see you outfitted with all you’ll need for some hard travel.”

“Have a care, Master al’Thor,” Moiraine said.

“I always do, Moiraine Sedai,” Tam answered.

The way the two of them locked eyes sent a shiver across Min’s back.


	84. The Chase Begins

CHAPTER 81: The Chase Begins

Faile looked beautiful when she slept. Her black hair and tan skin contrasted nicely against the white sheets of their bed while her naked breasts rose and fell with each slow breath. It wasn’t even evening yet, but then it wasn’t a regular sort of tiredness that had put her to bed. Perrin gently tucked a blanket over his wife’s nudity, and then finished doing up his shirt. They’d barely been able to keep their hands off each other since the battle ended. Now that she’d discovered the wonders of sex, Faile seemed to want to try everything possible. She’d bounced in his lap so fast that he’d barely been able to last a few minutes, on one occasion. On another, he’d taken her while she was on her hands and knees, and even then he’d had to hold her firmly by the hips to calm her wild jerking so they could take their time. She’d seemed to like that even better though, once she got used to it.

Perrin slipped quietly from the room. He was intent on the kitchen and some quiet time to himself, but it was not to be.

Lan reached the top of the Winespring Inn’s stairwell just as Perrin was approaching it. “Rand is gone,” was all he said before he left at a run, but it was more than enough.

The common room of the inn was still the mess that Rand had left it in, but work was underway to clean things up. The immediate aftermath of the fighting had been a time of rest and healing, whether the normal kind that Daisy and her apprentices did, or that which the Aes Sedai performed. Those who’d been subject to the latter moved as if they should still be in a sickbed. A body took time to build back the strength that being Healed took. Now that people were finding their feet again, work became the priority. There was rebuilding to do. Already, men were using their horses to drag Trolloc bodies out into empty fields for burning.

But none of that was what drew Perrin’s focus. Two of the Aes Sedai were confronting Tam in the street outside, and he wouldn’t have needed his enhanced senses to tell that things were beginning to get heated.

Outside, only a handful of Shienarans were in sight, and those were dismounting from their horses as though they’d only just arrived. There were even fewer Aiel, but everyone else who’d gone off with Rand had gathered around Moiraine.

Perrin’s stomach muttered at him, and his nose tested the breeze in the hope that someone had already started cooking. He was ready to eat those turnips, raw if need be. There was the lingering stench of slain Myrddraal, the smells of dead Trollocs and men, alive and dead, of horses and trees and all the other myriad scents that made up his hometown.

Perrin started toward Moiraine’s group. As his boots crunched over the debris, he met Masema. The Shienaran’s face was haggard, the scar on his cheek prominent, and his eyes even more sunken than usual. He raised his head suddenly and caught Perrin’s coat sleeve.

“You’re his childhood friend,” Masema said hoarsely. “You must know. Why did the Lord Dragon abandon us? What sin did we commit?”

“Sin? What are you talking about? Whyever Rand went, it was nothing you did or didn’t do.” Masema did not appear satisfied; he kept his grip on Perrin’s sleeve, peering into his face as if there were answers there. “Masema,” he said carefully, “whatever the Lord Dragon did, it was according to his plan. The Lord Dragon would not abandon us.”  _ Or would he? If I were in his place, would I? _

Masema nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, I see that, now. He has gone out alone to spread the word of his coming. We must spread the word, too. Yes.” He wandered off towards his horse, muttering to himself.

Perrin shook his head as he went to join the others. Anna, Gaul and Loial were already there, the Ogier’s tufted ears twitching uneasily. Min had her arms folded defensively, while Raine scowled at nothing and everything, and Uno tried his best to outdo her. Alanna was there, too, having recovered from Rand’s attack. She didn’t seem very welcome in the others’ company, and the scent of frustration was coming off her in waves, especially so whenever her gaze happened to rest on Merile, who’d attached herself to Tam’s side for some reason. Moiraine paced back and forth in thought. Dark thoughts, they must have been. Three paces each way was all she went, the calm on her face belied by the quickness of her step. She almost smelled afraid.

“I think Masema is going crazy,” Perrin said.

Min sniffed. “With him, how can you tell?”

Moiraine rounded on him, a tightness to her mouth. Her voice was soft. Too soft. “Is Masema the most important thing in your mind today, Perrin Aybara?”

“No. I’d like to know when Rand left, and why. Did anyone see him go? Does anyone know where he went?” He made himself meet her look with one just as level and firm. It was not easy. He loomed over her, but she was Aes Sedai. “Is this of your making, Moiraine? Did you rein him in until he was so impatient he’d go anywhere, do anything, just to stop sitting still?” Loial’s ears went stiff, and he motioned a surreptitious warning with one thick-fingered hand.

Moiraine studied Perrin with her head tilted to one side, and it was all he could do not to drop his eyes. “This is none of my doing,” she said. “He left sometime during the night. When and how and why, I yet hope to learn.”

Loial’s shoulders heaved in a quiet sigh of relief. Quiet for an Ogier, it sounded like steam rushing out from quenching red-hot iron. “Never anger an Aes Sedai,” he said in a whisper obviously meant just for himself, but audible to everyone. “ ‘Better to embrace the sun than to anger an Aes Sedai.’ ”

“No-one saw him go,” Min said grimly. “Not even the guards.”

“And would it have done any good if they had?” Moiraine interrupted. “Would any of them have stopped the  _ Lord Dragon _ , or even challenged him? Some of them—Masema for one—would slit their own throats if the  _ Lord Dragon _ told them to.”

“A Warder might do the same for his Aes Sedai,” Tam said calmly. “And the Tower Guards that I’ve met would gladly die on the Amyrlin Seat’s orders.” Irritation spiked in Moiraine’s scent.

It was Perrin’s turn to study her. “Did you expect anything else? They swore to follow him. Light, Moiraine, he’d never have named himself Dragon if not for you. What did you expect of them?” She did not speak, and he went on more quietly. “Do you believe, Moiraine? That he’s really the Dragon Reborn? Or do you just think he’s someone you can use before the One Power kills him or drives him mad?”

“Go easy, Perrin,” Loial said. “Not so angry.”

“I’ll go easy when she answers me. Well, Moiraine?”

“He is what he is,” she said sharply.

“You once said the Pattern would force him to the right path eventually. Is that what this is, or is he just trying to get away from you?” Min flinched as though he’d slapped her. For a moment he thought he had gone too far—Moiraine’s dark eyes sparkled with anger—but he refused to back down. “Well?”

Moiraine took a deep breath. “This may well be what the Pattern has chosen, yet I did not mean for him to go off alone. For all his power, he is as defenceless as a babe in many ways, and as ignorant of the world. He channels, but he has no control over whether or not the One Power comes when he reaches for it and almost as little over what he does with it if it does come. The power itself will kill him before he has a chance to go mad if he does not learn that control. There is so much he must learn, yet. He wants to run before he has learned to walk.”

“You split hairs and lay false trails, Moiraine.” Perrin snorted. “If he is what you say he is, did it never occur to you that he might know what he has to do better than you?”

“He is what he is,” she repeated firmly, “but I must keep him alive if he is to do anything. He will fulfil no prophecies dead, and even if he manages to avoid Darkfriends and Shadowspawn, there are a thousand other hands ready to slay him. All it will take is a hint of the hundredth part of what he is. Yet if that were all he might face, I would not worry half so much as I do. There are the Forsaken to be accounted for.”

Perrin gave a start at hearing her use that name where so many of those she’d consider outsiders might hear. Even Alanna looked at her incredulously.

“The seals are weakening,” she continued. “Some are broken, though the world does not know that. Must not know that. The Father of Lies is not free. Yet. But as the seals weaken, more and more, which of the Forsaken may be loosed already? Ishamael, Aginor, Lanfear and Asha’bellanar we already know have been freed. Who else? Sammael, the Destroyer of Hope himself? Asmodean, or Be’lal, or Rahvin? Aanyogol or Sa’calabell? All of them? They were many, Perrin, and bound in the sealing, not in the prison that holds the Dark One. Some of the most powerful Aes Sedai of the Age of Legends, the weakest of them stronger than the ten strongest Aes Sedai living today, the most ignorant with all the knowledge of the Age of Legends. And every man and woman of them gave up the Light and dedicated their souls to the Shadow. What if they are free, and out there waiting for him? I will not let them have him.”

Perrin shivered, partly from the icy iron in her last words, and partly from thought of the Forsaken. He did not want to think of even one of the Forsaken loose in the world. His mother had frightened him with those names when he was little _. Ishamael comes for boys who do not tell their mothers the truth. Lanfear waits in the night for boys who do not go to bed when they are supposed to. Moridin reaps the wicked and the disrespectful _ . Being older did not help, not when he knew now they were all real. Not when Moiraine said they might be free.

“Bound in Shayol Ghul,” he whispered, and wished he still believed it. “Even dreams aren’t safe anymore. Not from them.”

Moiraine stepped closer, and peered up into his face. “Dreams?” Lan and Uno began to speak, but she waved them to silence. “What dreams have you had the last few days, Perrin?” She ignored his protest that there was nothing wrong with his dreams. “Tell me,” she insisted. “What dream have you had that was not ordinary? Tell me.” Her gaze seized him like smithy tongs, willing him to speak.

He looked at the others—they were all watching him fixedly, even Min—then hesitantly told of the one dream that seemed unusual to him, the dream that came every night. The dream of the sword he could not touch.

“ _ Callandor _ ,” Lan breathed when he was done. Rock-hard face or no, he looked stunned.

If Moiraine had smelled afraid before, it had been nothing to when she heard that word. For an instant then, fear scent had steamed from her as from a woman announcing that she was going to stick her hand in a hornets’ nest and crush them with her bare fingers.  _ What in the Light is she up to? If Moiraine is frightened, I should be terrified _ .

“Yes,” Moiraine said, with no sign of her fear showing in her voice, “but we must be absolutely certain. Speak to the others.” As Lan hurried off, she turned to Uno. “And what of your dreams? Did you dream of a sword, too?”

The Shienaran shifted his feet. The red eye painted on his patch stared straight at Moiraine, but his real eye blinked and wavered. “I dream about flam—uh, about swords all the time, Moiraine Sedai,” he said stiffly. “I suppose I’ve dreamed about a sword the last few nights. I don’t remember my dreams the way Lord Perrin here does.”

Moiraine said, “Loial?”

“My dreams are always the same, Moiraine Sedai. The groves, and the Great Trees, and the  _ stedding _ . We Ogier always dream of the  _ stedding _ when we are away from them.”

The Aes Sedai turned back to Perrin.

“It was just a dream,” he said. “Nothing but a dream.”

“I doubt it,” she said. “You describe the hall called the Heart of the Stone, in the fortress called the Stone of Tear, as if you had stood in it. And the shining sword is  _ Callandor _ , the Sword That Is Not a Sword, the Sword That Cannot Be Touched.”

“And it lies to the south of here, the very direction that Rand is moving in,” said Alanna. The eyes she fixed on Moiraine were very wide. “You truly believe he is the one?”

“I know it,” she said.

Loial stood up straight. “The Prophecies of the Dragon say the Stone of Tear will never fall till  _ Callandor _ is wielded by the Dragon’s hand. The fall of the Stone of Tear will be one of the greatest signs of the Dragon’s Rebirth. If Rand holds  _ Callandor _ , the whole world must acknowledge him as the Dragon.”

“Perhaps.” The word floated from the Aes Sedai’s lips like a shard of ice on still water.

“Perhaps?” Perrin said. “Perhaps? I thought that was the final sign, the last thing to fulfil your Prophecies.”

“Neither the first nor the last,” Moiraine said. “ _ Callandor _ will be but one fulfilment of  _ The Karaethon Cycle _ , as his birth on the slopes of Dragonmount was the first. He has yet to break the nations, or shatter the world. Even scholars who have studied the Prophecies for their entire lives do not know how to interpret them all. What does it mean that he ‘shall slay his people with the sword of peace, and destroy them with the leaf’? What does it meant that he ‘shall bind the nine moons to serve him’? Yet these are given equal weight with  _ Callandor _ in the Cycle. There are others. What ‘wounds of madness and cutting of hope’ has he healed? What chains has he broken, and who put into chains? How is a hollowness of hate filled, or a depth of madness plumbed? And some are so obscure that he may already have fulfilled them, although I am not aware of it. But no.  _ Callandor _ is far from the end of it.”

Perrin shrugged uneasily. He knew only bits and pieces of the Prophecies; he had liked hearing them even less since Rand had let Moiraine put that banner in his hands. No, it had been before that even. Since a journey by Portal Stone had convinced him his life was bound to Rand’s.

Moiraine was continuing. “If you think he has simply to put out his hand, Loial son of Arent son of Halan, you are a fool, as is he if he thinks it. Even if he lives to reach Tear, he may never attain the Stone.

“Tairens have no love for the One Power, and less for any man claiming to be the Dragon. Channelling is outlawed, and Aes Sedai are tolerated at best, so long as they do not channel. Telling the Prophecies of the Dragon, or even possessing a copy of them, is enough to put you in prison, in Tear. And no-one enters the Stone of Tear without permission of the High Lords; none but the High Lords themselves enter the Heart of the Stone. He is not ready for this. Not ready.”

Perrin grunted softly. The Stone would never fall till the Dragon Reborn held  _ Callandor _ .  _ How in the Light is he supposed to reach it—inside a bloody fortress!—before the fortress falls? It is madness! _

“Tear?” Gaul said, sounding surprised. “Why ...? But it must be. Prophecy says when the Stone of Tear falls, we will leave the Three-fold Land at last.” That was the Aiel name for the Waste. “It says we will be changed, and find again what was ours, and was lost.”

“That may be. I don’t know your prophecies, Gaul,” said Perrin.

“I have read every word of the Prophecies of the Dragon,” Moiraine said softly as she studied Gaul, “in every translation, and there is no mention of the Aiel.”

“Why are we just sitting here?” Min burst out. “If Rand is going to Tear, why aren’t we following him? He could be killed, or ... or ... Why are we sitting here?”

Moiraine put a hand on Min’s shoulder. “Because I must be sure,” she said gently. “It is not comfortable being chosen by the Wheel, to be great or to be near greatness. The chosen of the Wheel can only take what comes.”

“I am tired of taking what comes.” Min scrubbed a hand across her eyes. Perrin thought he saw tears. “Rand could be dying while we wait.” Moiraine smoothed Min’s hair; there was a look almost of pity on the Aes Sedai’s face.

“He won’t die,” said Anna. “He knows what he’s doing. Better than you are all giving him credit for. If he’d rather do this alone, then that’s his choice to make.”

“As it was Egwene’s?” Perrin said.

Her jaw tightened but she faced him directly. “Yes. Just like that.”

Perrin sighed. Maybe she was right. Rand certainly didn’t need Perrin to be looking after him. “How can my dream tell where Rand is going?” he asked. “It was my dream.”

“Those who can channel the One Power,” Moiraine said quietly, “those who are particularly strong in Spirit, can sometimes force their dreams on others.” She did not stop her soothing of Min. “Especially on those who are—susceptible. I do not believe Rand did it on purpose, but the dreams of those touching the True Source can be powerful. For one as strong as he, they could possibly seize an entire village, or perhaps even a city. He knows little of what he does, and even less of how to control it.”

“Then why didn’t you have it, too?” he demanded. “Or Lan.” Uno stared straight ahead, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else, and Loial’s ears wilted. Perrin was too tired and too hungry to care whether he showed proper respect for an Aes Sedai. And too angry, as well, he realized. “Why?”

Moiraine answered calmly. “Aes Sedai learn to shield their dreams. I do it without thinking when I sleep. Warders are given something much the same in the bonding. The Gaidin could not do what they must if the Shadow could steal into their dreams. We are all vulnerable when we sleep, and the Shadow is strong in the night.”

“There’s always something new from you,” Perrin growled. “Can’t you tell us what to expect once in a while, instead of explaining after it happens?” Uno looked as though he was trying to think of a reason to leave.

Moiraine gave Perrin a flat look. “You want me to share a lifetime of knowledge with you in a single afternoon? Or even a single year? I will tell you this. Be wary of dreams, Perrin Aybara. Be very wary of dreams.”

He pulled his eyes away from hers. “I am,” he murmured. “I am.”

After that, silence, and no-one seemed to want to break it. Min stood staring at her boots, but apparently taking some comfort from Moiraine’s presence. Uno folded his arms across his armoured chest and stood alone, not looking at anyone. Loial forgot himself enough to pull a book from his coat pocket and try to read. The wait was long, and far from easy for Perrin.  _ It’s not the Shadow in my dreams I’m afraid of. It’s wolves. I will not let them in. I won’t! _

Lan returned, and Moiraine straightened eagerly. The Warder answered the question in her eyes.

“Half of the Shienarans remember dreaming of swords the last four nights running. Some remember a place with great columns, and five say the sword was crystal, or glass. Masema says he saw Rand holding it last night.”

“That one would,” Moiraine said. She rubbed her hands together briskly; she seemed suddenly full of energy. “We must follow him without delay. Uno, I will give you enough gold to take you and the others as far as Jehannah, and the name of someone there who will see that you get more. The Ghealdanin are wary of strangers, but if you keep to yourselves, they should not trouble you. Wait there until I send word.”

“But we will go with you,” he protested. “We have all sworn to follow the Dragon Reborn. I do not see how the few of us can take a fortress that has never fallen, but with the Lord Dragon’s aid, we will do what must be done.”

“So we are ‘the People of the Dragon’, now.” Perrin laughed mirthlessly. “ ‘The Stone of Tear will never fall till the People of the Dragon come.’ Have you given us a new name, Moiraine?”

“Watch your tongue, blacksmith,” Lan growled, all ice and stone.

Moiraine gave them both sharp looks, and they fell silent. “Forgive me, Uno,” she said, “but we must travel quickly if we are to have a hope of overtaking him. Your heavy cavalry will slow us down. You must take the two girls with you, for their safety. I will send for you when I can.”

Uno grimaced, but he bowed in acquiescence. At her dismissal, he squared his shoulders and left to tell the others. Or at least he was about to.

Tam had watched and listened in silence, as had become his habit lately. Perrin remembered him as being a more talkative man, but ever since learning what Rand was he seemed to have grown more withdrawn. When he spoke up now, it was enough to stop Uno in his tracks. “Actually if it’s okay with you Shienaran, I’d appreciate some company on the ride to Tear. And I’m sure Rand would appreciate you being there, too. He seems to trust your lot.”

Uno grunted at that, his lone eye roving back and forth between Tam and Moiraine. “Well, if you say so. It’d be bloody nice if he’d trusted us enough to take us flamin’ with him. But if you need someone to watch your back sir, then we’re the right bastards for the job. Ah, begging your pardons and all.”

Moiraine spoke in an icy breath. “How nice for you both.”

“My parents were married, but I’d like to come, too, if that’s okay,” Merile said.

Raine nodded firmly. “Good. We will be pack.”

“Well, I am going along, whatever you say,” Min put in firmly.

“You are going to Tar Valon,” Moiraine told her.

“I am no such thing!”

The Aes Sedai went on smoothly as if the other woman had not spoken. “The Amyrlin Seat must be told what has happened, and I cannot count on finding one I can trust who has messenger pigeons. Or that the Amyrlin will see any message I send by pigeon. It is a long journey, and hard. I would not send you alone if there were anyone to send with you, but I will see you have money, and letters to those who might help you on your way. You must ride quickly, though. When your horse tires, buy another—or steal one, if you must—but ride quickly.”

“Let someone else take your message. I am going after Rand.”

“Uno and the others have their duties, Min. And do you think a man could simply walk up to the gates of the White Tower and demand an audience with the Amyrlin Seat? Even a king would be made to wait days if he arrived unannounced, and I fear any of the Shienarans would be left kicking their heels for weeks, if not forever. Not to mention that something so unusual would be known to everyone in Tar Valon before the first sunset. Few women seek audiences with the Amyrlin herself, but it does happen, and it should occasion no great comment, especially given that you are already well known in the Tower. No-one must learn even as much as that the Amyrlin Seat has received a message from me. Her life—and ours—could depend on it. You are the one who must go.” Min sat there opening and closing her mouth, obviously searching for another argument, but Moiraine had already gone on. “Lan, I very much fear we will find more evidence of his passing than I would like, but I will rely on your tracking.” The Warder nodded. “Perrin? Loial? Anna? Will you come with me after Rand?” Min gave an indignant squawk, but the Aes Sedai ignored it.

“I will come,” Loial said quickly. “Rand is my friend. And I will admit it; I would not miss anything. For my book, you see.”

Perrin was slower to answer. Rand was his friend, whatever he had become in the forging. And there was that near certainty of their futures being linked, though he would have avoided that part of it if he could. But his future was linked to other people as well, Faile’s especially, and he couldn’t see what difference he could make in what they proposed to do. “I’m staying here with my people,” he said finally. “I wish I could say I’ll never leave Emond’s Field again, but even I know that would be a lie. But for now, I’m done. Rand will have to take care of himself.”

Anna frowned at her own fist for a while before answering. “I’m staying, too. Rand said that I should. And I think he was right. I can do more to help him back here than I could out there. I hope. If anything happens to him, and I’m not there ...”

Tam put a fatherly hand on her shoulder. “He’s always spoken highly of you, lass. And rightly so. Don’t take responsibility for a field that isn’t yours to hoe.”

Anna blushed at that, and for her sake Perrin hoped Tam just took it as a response to his praise.

Moiraine didn’t look very pleased by their decisions but she shook off her displeasure quickly. “The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills.” She rubbed her hands together again, with the air of someone settling to work. “You must all ready yourselves at once. Rand has hours on us. I mean to be well along his trail before nightfall. I cannot trust to another ship arriving in time to pick us up, so we will have to look to other options.”

“Whitebridge by way of Taren Ferry, and then a ship from there to Tear?” Lan said, his brow raised questioningly.

“Perhaps. If Rand disembarks at Godan and proceeds cross-country towards the capital, then we might catch him before he gets himself killed. But if the ship he took passage on goes all the way to Tear city, then we risk his staying ahead of us.” Moiraine’s lips thinned. “We may have to dare the Ways again.”

Perrin snorted. “And then you risk not reaching Tear alive at all.”

“That hardly concerns you now does it, Perrin Aybara?” she said, somehow managing to look down her nose at him despite being nearly a foot shorter. “You have sheep to attend to, and no responsibilities grander than that. Just as you always wanted. I hope no-one comes to lament this retirement of yours.”

Slender as she was, the force of her presence herded all of them but Lan and Alanna away. Perrin thought of a goodwife herding geese.

Min hung back for a moment to address Lan with a too-sweet smile. “And is there any message you want carried? To Nynaeve, perhaps?”

The Warder blinked as if caught off guard, like a horse on three legs. “Does everyone know—?” He regained his balance almost immediately. “If there is anything else she needs to hear from me, I will tell her myself.” He turned his back on her and stalked off.

“Men!” Min muttered after him. “Too blind to see what a stone could see, and too stubborn to be trusted to think for themselves.”

Tam and Uno went off together to ready their men to depart. From his gestures the one-eyed man was making up for lost time with his cursing. Gaul left to find Chiad and Bain, saying they must decide whether to go after Rand or not. Perrin was left to say his goodbyes with his friends.

“How did you all become privileged?” Min demanded abruptly. “She asked you. She didn’t do me the courtesy of asking.”

Loial shook his head. “I think she asked because she knew what we would answer, Min. Moiraine seems able to read Perrin and me; she knows what we’ll do. But you are a closed book to her.”

Min appeared only a little mollified. She looked up at them, Perrin head and shoulders taller on one side and Loial towering even higher on the other. “Much good it does me. I am still going where she wants as easily as you two little lambs. You were doing well for a while, Perrin. Standing up to her like she’d sold you a coat and the seams were popping open.”

“I did stand up to her, didn’t I,” Perrin said wonderingly. He had not really realized he had done that. “It was not so bad as I’d have thought it would be.”

“You were lucky,” Loial rumbled. “ ‘To anger an Aes Sedai is to put your head in a hornet’s nest.’ ”

Anna shot a baleful look at Alanna’s distant figure. “If the alternative is letting them enslave you, then bring on the hornets.”

Min nodded agreement. “I can’t help but remember Renna every time I look at her. Elayne spoke of killing herself when faced with the possibility of staying in her control forever,” she said grimly.

Perrin shuffled his feet. Renna had been one of those Seanchan  _ sul’dam _ . A woman, but Min had killed her just the same. It wasn’t something he liked to remember. And it certainly wasn’t something he wanted to see repeated. Maybe it was just as well that Min was going to Tar Valon instead. “It really is best for you to go to Tar Valon,” he told her encouragingly. “You’ll be safe there.”

“Safe?” She tasted the word as if wondering what it meant. “You think Tar Valon is safe?”

“If there’s no safety in Tar Valon, there’s no safety anywhere.”

She sniffed loudly.

Perrin looked around at them all. He barely knew Merile, but the others were all friends of his, even Raine, troubling as she was. “I’m going to miss you all,” he said honestly.

“We both will,” Anna said, her voice going gruff with emotion.

A smiling Min wrapped the other woman in a hug, and for all that she looked embarrassed by the embrace, once it was over Anna pulled Raine into a similar one. When a sad-faced Merile lamented that no-one wanted to hug her, Min and Raine teamed up to crush her slender form between them while Anna laughed.

“Take care of them, Ogier. And do a better job of taking care of yourself while you’re at it,” Perrin said as he shook Loial’s huge paw. “No more heroics!”

Loial looked embarrassed. “I should hope not! And you, Perrin. Enjoy every moment of peace you can, you and Faile both. I fear they may not last forever.”

“Yes. Mate your bitch well, Shoulders,” Raine added with what he was sure she imagined was a friendly smile. Perrin grimaced, abruptly glad that she was going. Faile would not have responded well if she’d heard that.

“We’ll see each other again,” said Min. She sounded certain, and if anyone would have the means to be so, it would be her. As troubling as some of the viewings she’d had were, Perrin hoped that that one at least would come true.

“I’m ready. Let’s depart,” Merile said.

Perrin and Anna stood amidst the detritus of the battle of Emond’s Field and watched them leave. He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake by not going with them, and that Rand really could handle whatever awaited him without their help. Anna remained silent, but he was sure that her thoughts moved in tandem with his own, at least in that regard. He worried they might differ greatly in other matters, but that was a problem for another day.


	85. Chapter 85

The chains of fate will hound and harry, sear and bond.

Their warm embrace he will flee, even ere he wrap the innocent in them.

For the face may smelt and the place may shatter, yet the heart of the Dragon remains fire incarnate.

— from  _ The Karaethon Cycle _ , as translated by Jeorad Manyard in FY1000.

The End

of the Fourth Book of

The Wheel Turns Anew


End file.
